Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record онлайн

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The more the lads saw of the little old lady the more they liked her. It was plain that she was all wrapped up in Barzy Blunt; and that, when she got through with her half of the fifty thousand, it would be passed on to Barzy. Nor would this be long, Merriwell thought, as he saw how frail and worn she was through years of misfortune.

Frank and his chums were in bed early, that night, and next morning they were up and on the road to the gulch before either Mrs. Boorland or the professor was stirring.

It was a crisp, bright morning. The air, pure and clean from the wide deserts, acted like a tonic. Ballard, in spite of himself, burst into song, and Clancy had a time of it smothering the ragtime airs that Ballard insisted on trying to sing.

The trail was wide and fine for the fifteen miles that lay between Ophir and Dolliver’s. Dolliver, the ranchman, was well known to the boys.

“What d’you reckon,” he asked of the boys, as they halted to water their mounts, “Lenning and that white-faced feller trailin’ along with him is doin’ in these parts?”