"It's quite near stage time," Bert remarked suddenly, "we're pretty near
the trail, and if we meet it we can get the latest developments of the
reservation situation from Buck, the driver. He always has a supply of
the latest news. He knows more than the local newspapers of what's going
on, I believe."
"I'll bet that's the coach now," exclaimed Dick, pointing to a cloud of
dust in the distance.
"Yes, I guess it is," returned Bert, gazing intently at the distant
smirch against the clear blue background of sky; "come along, fellows.
Ride hard and we'll reach the trail before the coach comes along."
Accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the
sunburned prairie. In a short time they reached the travel-hardened
trail, beating the coach by a good half mile. Then they drew rein, and
waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them.
With rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach
toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules. As it drew
near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the
salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip.
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