"Told you so, boys!" cried a tall rangy fellow, who sat his pony as though he might be a part of the animal--one of those Centaurs of old. "Ketch on to the scout togs, would you? Say, are you Harry Stevens?" He had unconsciously picked out Ned when asking this question, because he must have somehow seen that he was the leader; perhaps, it was partly from his looks; and, then again, the fact that Ned had no burro to take care of, while all his companions did, may have had something to do with it. "No, but I'm his chum, Ned Nestor. That's Harry over yonder, and I reckon now that we're glad to be at the Double Cross." "But where'd you come from, pard?" demanded the cowboy, who had thrown one leg over his saddle, the better to talk. "Los Angeles," replied Ned, indifferently. At that the punchers stared and even exchanged various winks and nods. "Not with them lazy burros, I opine, pard?" ventured the spokesman. "Oh! no, we picked these up in the hills, buying them from prospectors, who had had enough and were meaning to go home," Ned informed him. "That was after our automobile broke down and had to be abandoned, in the middle of the Mojave Desert," Harry volunteered. The cow-puncher gave a whistle to indicate his surprise. Ned noticed that his manner had changed somewhat, too. Doubtless, because these boys were from the East and somewhat green with regard to ranch ways, he may have imagined, in the beginning, that they were genuine tenderfeet. He knew better now. Any party of boys who could by themselves cross that terrible Mojave Desert and make their way down to this country bordering the Colorado River, must surely be made of the right stuff. "Get up behind me, Ned, and ride the rest of the way; proud to have you join us. And we reckons as how we'll give you the time of your life while you're at the old Double Cross Ranch." Ned promptly accepted this invitation on the part of the lanky puncher, whom he heard called "Chunky," probably because he was just the opposite; while a real fat roly-poly sort of a rider answered, when they addressed him as "Skinny," which made it look as though these boys might have drawn the wrong slips out of the hat at the ranch christening. Jack, Harry and Jimmy were all similarly accommodated with seats, while two other punchers promised to see that the pack animals got in. A wild ride they made of those two miles. The scouts clasped their arms around their new friends and held on for dear life; but none of them fell off and presently they found themselves in front of the ranch house. "Sorry to tell ye, Harry," announced the lanky puncher, "that both your uncles, together with a couple of the boys, has headed for the railroad, to fetch home a bunch of imported stock they sent for, meaning to improve the breed of our long horns. So ye'll have to wait two days or so before you see 'em; but Aunt Mehitabel, she's inside, and will make you all welcome, sure thing."