Quickly the Wilders made fast the suit-cases to their saddles and
untied the ponies.

"This is Blackhawk, Tom, and this is Lightning, Larry," said Horace
as he handed the reins to the two boys. "They're a couple of the
best ponies in New Mexico, and while you're here they'll be yours.
You can get acquainted with them on the ride to the ranch."

Both animals were splendid creatures, well built and powerful.
Blackhawk, as the name suggests, was jet black, his coat glistening
in the sun, and Lightning was a roan.

Already Bill and Horace were on their ponies, and the two brothers
were just swinging into their saddles when a voice cried:

"Tom! Larry!"

Turning their heads, the boys beheld Hans, the tears streaming down
his cheeks, rushing toward them as fast as his valises would let
him.

No need was there to ask if he had found a trace of his brother.
The tears told all too plainly that he had not.

"Who in the world is that?" asked Horace in astonishment.

"A German boy who traveled with us," explained Tom. "Do you know
any one in Tolopah by the name of Chris Ober?"