CHAPTER VI

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!”