OFF FOR THE WEST
“Well, everything seems to be in pretty good shape.”
“It surely does,” agreed Jerry to Ned’s observation.
“Except I don’t understand what contraption this is,” and Ned kicked
a box that an expressman had just delivered at the Slade homestead in
Cresville. “Must be something pretty particular that Bob sent, for he’s
marked it ‘_Don’t open until I get there_.’”
“Something to eat, I’ll wager,” declared Jerry. “He’s getting worse
instead of better. Where’d he go, anyhow?”
“Why, we needed that spare part of the carburetor and he said he’d go
to town for it.”
“That’s right. Well, it’s time he was back. Oh, here he comes now,” and
Jerry pointed down the road, along which a motorcycle was approaching
speedily.
“Come on, Chunky. Open it up and pass out the good things!” cried Ned
as his stout chum approached, leaving the motorcycle at the side of
the garage in front of which Ned and Jerry had been talking.
“Open what up?” demanded Chunky.
“This box of cracker dust, or whatever it is,” and Ned kicked the
express package.
“Cracker dust nothing! That’s----”
“Something to eat, of course,” finished Jerry.
“That’s where you get left!” laughed Bob. “Here’s the spare carburetor
part. Stick it some place where you won’t forget. I had trouble enough
getting it--had to go to four places.”
“Well, the exercise will do you good. But we’re hungry, and we don’t
mind admitting it, Chunky, though the failing is more yours than ours.
However, be that as it may----”
“Oh, you want me to open that,” and Bob smiled at his chums. “Well,
here goes.”
With a hammer he attacked the box, while Ned and Jerry sat on chairs on
the shady side of the automobile shed and looked on.
“Just a little roast turkey, with dressing on the side, and a stalk of
celery for mine,” suggested Jerry.
“Too much like Thanksgiving,” commented Ned. “I’ll have lobster salad
with plenty of mayonnaise and peppers.”
“All to the bill of fare,” was Bob’s murmured response. “There!” and
he took off the last board. “How’s that?”
To the disappointed eyes of Jerry and Ned was revealed a small
refrigerator of a new style, made especially for automobiles. It was
new and--absolutely empty.
Ned and Jerry swallowed hard. They were really hungry, for they had
worked all morning going over the big touring car, not even stopping
for a full meal at noon, as Mrs. Slade was away and there was no one to
insist that they should do so.
“Pretty nifty, eh? What?” asked Bob, looking up at his chums.
“Well, it’s all right in the abstract,” assented Jerry, “but in the
concrete it’s a flat failure. We were looking for something good.”
“This is one of the best auto refrigerators made!” was Bob’s indignant
retort. “It uses little ice, and has a net low temperature of forty
degrees on the hottest days. It will keep uncooked meat----”
“It wouldn’t keep a ham sandwich two seconds--not if I saw it first!”
broke in Ned. “Come on, Jerry! If this advance agent for a patent
fireless cooker wants to demonstrate the merits of his gas tank let him
do it. I’m going on a tour of discovery along the route of the kitchen
and the pantry. Come on!”
Bob took off the last of the papers from the miniature refrigerator,
looked at it, then at his disappearing chums, and called:
“Hold on! I’m coming!”
“I thought he would,” chuckled Ned.
The boys had been home from Boxwood Hall about a week. Mr. Slade had
been able to travel back to Cresville with Mr. Baker, and the two had
taken up their business matters again.
Preparations for the boys’ trip West went on apace, and word had
come from Dick Watson, foreman of the Square Z ranch, that those who
were about to solve the cattle mystery should lose as little time as
possible since another theft, this time a small bunch of steers, had
occurred.
“We’ll make good time when we get started,” Ned declared.
They were to go in the big touring car in which they had made several
extended trips. It was really a sort of traveling hotel, for it
contained about double the room of an ordinary car, being of extra
length. Storm proof curtains could be let down to the ground at the
rear, and in this enclosed space cots could be set up, and cooking done
on a solidified-alcohol stove of extra size. So that if the travelers
found themselves at night far from a habitation they could be almost as
comfortable as though in a hotel.
This car was now in shape for the long trip to Wyoming. When Jerry
advised Bob to look at the map he meant that they would take from
Boston a route to Square Z ranch that would not carry them near
Arizona, a northern trend being followed.
They would cross the lower part of New York State, skirt through
Pennsylvania and Ohio and on, running a pretty straight course through
Nebraska into Wyoming. Square Z ranch was located in the Great
Divide Basin, at the foot of the Green Mountains on Muddy Creek and
about a hundred miles, in an air line, from the Medicine Bow Forest
Reservation, one of the government wonder-spots. The Union Pacific
Railroad ran about thirty miles from the ranch.
“But we’ll be independent of that with our auto and airship,” said Bob,
as he finished the cheese and started to eat some cold roast beef Ned
had set out for his chums.
The boys had completed arrangements to take one of their air craft. It
was not the big, combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane, in which
they had had some wonderful adventures, but a biplane which could carry
four comfortably, and five when necessary.
This craft would be shipped to Bodley, the nearest railroad station,
and there put together by the boys, who felt they would find good use
for it over the Western plains.
“And I have a notion,” commented Ned, as they finished the lunch and
prepared to resume work on the big automobile, “that the airship will
be just what we need to discover the cattle thieves. We can circulate
in the clouds and spy down on them when they drive off bunches of dad’s
choice steers.”
“It sounds well,” remarked Bob. “What I’m counting on is having some
choice steaks roasted over an open fire.”
“It’s a habit with him,” sighed Jerry. “He’ll never get over it.”
“Doesn’t seem so,” agreed Ned.
“Oh, well, it might be worse,” and Bob grinned at his chums. “We might
not have anything to eat. I ought to be anxious!”
“Let’s get busy,” suggested Jerry. “We’re losing time. This isn’t
exactly a fishing excursion. If the thieves keep on running off bunches
of cattle, Ned, your father won’t have any ranch left for us to hike
to. Come on!”
Another day saw the preparations completed. The big touring automobile
had been put in shape for the long trip. New tires had been put on,
and spare ones stowed away. An extra gasoline tank had been slung
underneath. The bedding had been provided and Bob’s refrigerator, with
a supply of ice that was guaranteed (in the advertisements) to last
twice as long as congealed water in any other place, had been given a
nook all by itself. To the stocking of the miniature cold storage plant
Bob devoted much of his time. But his chums let him have his way.
The airship had been packed and started on its journey there to await
the arrival of the boys. The big car was run out of the garage and the
chums, looking keenly over every part, had assured themselves that it
was never in better trim.
“But I guess he isn’t coming,” said Jerry, as he playfully lifted
his mother off her feet and set her down again at her semi-indignant
protest.
“Who?” asked Bob, who had given a final look at his patent refrigerator.
“Professor Snodgrass,” was the answer. “You know I invited him to
make the trip with us, and he seemed delighted, as he said there were
several new varieties of Wyoming bugs he wanted to gather. He promised
to be here, but he hasn’t showed up and----”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to go without him,” remarked Mrs. Slade. “Your
father is anxious to have you start, Ned, for he really thinks you may
accomplish something. And he is so fussy since his accident, I think
you had better go.”
“Of course we’ll deliver the goods!” cried Ned, breezily, if a bit
slangily. “And dad’s right. We’ve got to get started. I suppose the
professor may be circulating around the suburbs of Boston, trying to
make a date with a new kind of mosquito. If he comes, tell him to take
a train out to the ranch and we’ll see him there. Now it’s--all aboard!”
The respective parents and some friends had gathered at the Slade home
to witness the start. And after a last look at everything to make sure
that nothing was lacking, the boys kissed their mothers, shook hands
with their fathers and friends, and, with Jerry at the wheel, the big
car slowly gathered way.
“And whatever you do,” called Mrs. Hopkins after them, “don’t sleep in
damp clothes.”
“We’ll dry ’em out in Bob’s refrigerator!” shouted back her son, with a
laugh.
And then, amid farewells from the crowd on the Slade lawn, the Motor
Boys started away.
“Ho for the West!” cried Bob, swallowing the last of a bit of chocolate
he had munched so he would not get hungry. “The West and the cattle
mystery!”