"Rich men's sons, coming out to learn the ways of the Rookies?"
questioned Bad Pete, showing his first sign of interest in them.

"Not quite as bad as that," Tom Reade urged. "We're wholly respectable,
sir. We have even had to work hard in order to raise money for
our railway fare out to Colorado."

Bad Pete's look of interest in them faded.

"Huh!" he remarked. "Then you're no good either why."

"That's true, I'm afraid," sighed Tom. "However, can you tell
us the way to the camp?"

From one pocket Bad Pete produced a cigarette paper and from another
tobacco. Slowly he rolled and lighted a cigarette, in the meantime
seeming hardly aware of the existence of the tenderfeet. At last,
however, he turned to the Colorado boy and observed:

"Pardner, I reckon you'd better drive on with these tenderfeet
before I drop them over the cliff. They spoil the view. Ye know
where Bandy's Gulch is?"

"Sure," nodded the Colorado boy.

"Ye'll find the railroad outfit jest about a mile west o' there,
camped close to the main trail."

"I'm sure obliged to you," nodded the Colorado boy, stepping up
to his seat and gathering in the reins.