“This is what I call fine,” cried Tad.

“Good place for a nap,” agreed Chunky.

“Are you in need of sleep?” asked the professor.

“I’m in a trance, sir.”

“You always are,” laughed Tad Butler.  “I think we had better take a rest here.  The animals are tired after the climb.  Suppose we lie off for an hour?”

The boys were all agreed on this, so the pack pony was unloaded.  It now being near midday it was decided to wait for dinner before pressing on.  A meal was a “dab” down there and the boys had fallen naturally into the vernacular of the men of the plains.

It was Ned’s turn to cook the “dab,” a task that never appealed to him.  Chunky at such times was always on hand while Ned was getting the meal, that he might offer suggestions and make uncomplimentary observations.  Rector’s method of making coffee came in for considerable criticism.  He never could be induced to make coffee after the more approved methods.  Ned’s way was to put a pint of coffee beans in a two-quart coffee pot and boil for half an hour.  He made it the same way on this occasion.

“That stuff would eat a hole through a piece of sheet iron if given half a chance,” declared Stacy.

“Don’t worry.  It won’t hurt you,” retorted Ned.  “Your stomach is tough enough to withstand anything.”

“I guess it is or I’d have been dead long ago eating your dab,” flung back Stacy.

They had to wait quite a time for the coffee, but at last the call to dinner was sounded in the usual way, the long-drawn cry of, “Come and get it!”

They had just sat down when they were startled by a voice calling from somewhere off in the bushes to the northward of them.

“Hoo-ee!”

The boys started up, thinking that perhaps some of the Rangers had returned.  Instead of the Rangers a stranger rode in on a wiry little pony.  He doffed his sombrero gracefully and sat regarding them smilingly.

“Howdy, pardners,” greeted the newcomer.  “Got a smack for a hungry man?”

“Certainly, certainly.  Come right over, my friend,” answered the professor cordially.

Ned stepped forward politely to take the stranger’s horse.

“Never mind, lad.  I’ll look after the cayuse.  He isn’t over-fond of strangers.  You’re all strangers down here, eh?”

“Yes, yes.  We are,” admitted the professor.  “You are just in time.  We are ready for dinner and there’s plenty to go round.”

“I’ll promise not to eat you out of house and home,” laughed the stranger.  Without taking off his broad-brimmed Mexican sombrero he threw himself down by the piece of canvas on which the dinner had been laid, helping himself to a slice of bacon which he ate from his fingers in a most democratic fashion.  “My name’s Conway.  Bill Conway.  What’s yours?”

Professor Zepplin introduced himself and the boys, which Conway acknowledged by polite bows.  The man was easy in manner, and his smiling face led the boys to warm to him at once—–­all save Tad Butler, who, without appearing to do so, was observing the visitor keenly.