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

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“Right!” laughed Ballard. “Lenning’s handicap is a bit different from yours, Chip, but I spoke before I thought.”

The walls of the gulch widened out, and as the boys rode along the border of the pent-up waters, they came presently into view of three white tents, pitched on a strip of clean, sandy beach.

Dinner was being made ready. A fire had been started, and the campers could be seen moving about, each doing his allotted part of the work.

Half a dozen canoes were drawn up on the sand, a little way from the tent, and off shore a float was anchored for the use of swimmers. It was a pleasant scene for the three lads, just a little tired from their long morning’s ride.

A moment after the travelers sighted the camp, the campers sighted them. Instantly all work among the tents came to a standstill.

“Here’s the Merriwell crowd!” whooped one of the Gold Hill fellows.

“Good old Merry!”

“Just in time for grub pile!”

A rush was made for the newcomers, and they were dragged from their horses, pounded on the back, and punched in the ribs with all the delight and good feeling imaginable.