The Placida--with no little regret--was to be
surrendered to the railroad and returned to Chicago.
For that reason this was a busy day. Load after load of crates,
boxes, and bundles were carried to the big corral, the teams
stirring up the dust of Clarkeville's main street on their way. It
was heavy work, and required care. Smoky-faced Gus was earning his
pay. So skilful and adroit was he in executing tasks assigned him
that Ned commented on it to Alan.
While the boys were at their noonday lunch Buck appeared to report
progress. The big wagon was to come from a sheep ranch, ten miles
to the south. A man had gone for it and would arrive with it that
night. The wheels of the smaller wagon were being soaked in water
and the axles had been greased.
Ned could not resist asking:
"How's your new boarder, Buck?"
"Ain't seen much o' him. Purty poor feeder fur a tramp. Can't get
a tortilla down him nohow."
Ned looked at Alan significantly.
"Hasn't any baggage, has he?" continued Ned.
"Not a stitch. Lessen you allow fur a extra suit o' underclothes.
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