"Mr. Melton," they cried in chorus as they rushed with extended hands to
meet him.

"Sure thing," he responded, his face beaming with delight at their hearty
greeting. "Did you think I'd send one of my men to meet you? Not on your
life. Nothing less than a broken leg would have kept me from coming to
give you the first welcome to old Montana. Came down yesterday so that
the horses could have a good rest before starting back again. Come right
along now and tumble into the buckboard. One of my men will look after
your duds and bring them along later."

All talking at once, they came to the farther end of the platform, where
a big mountain wagon was waiting. It was drawn by a pair of wiry mustangs
that champed impatiently at the bit.

"Not very pretty to look at," said Melton, "but they're holy terrors when
it comes to traveling. Jump in."

They all piled in and Melton gathered up the reins. He chirped to the
horses and they started off at a rate that justified all he had said as
to their speed. But he held them in check and subdued them to a trot
that, while moderate in appearance, ate up the miles amazingly.

"Pure grit and iron, those little sinners," he commented. "But they've
got a long way to go, and we're sure even at this rate to get home in
plenty of time for supper. Now, tell me all about yourselves."

Which they proceeded to do in detail, not neglecting the attempted
hold-up on the train. He listened with the keenest interest.