"Green light off the starboard bow, sir." The voice came from the black void far above the navigating bridge of the battleship "Long Island." "Where away?" demanded the watch officer on the bridge. "Two points off starboard bow, sir." "What do you make her out?" "Don't make her out, sir," answered the red-haired Sam Hickey, who was doing lookout duty on the platform beside the number one searchlight. "Do you still see her "

"This is the famous Bois de Boulogne Sam." "The what?" "Bois de Boulogne, one of the most popular drives in Paris." "Huh " grunted Sam Hickey. "That sounds to me like some kind of sausage. What do they ever name their streets that way for in Paris?" "All the names in this great, gay city mean something," answered Dan Davis. "This park here bears the same name. It was infested by desperate robbers as far back as the fourteenth century." "Robbers " exclaimed the red-haired boy. "Yes."

"What's that?" "Guns, I reckon." "Sounds to me as if the town were being attacked. Just like war time, isn't it?" "Never having been to war, I can't say. But it's a noise all right." The freckle-faced boy, sitting on his pony with easy confidence, answered his companion's questions absently. After a careless glance up the street, he turned to resume his study of the noisy crowds that were surging back and forth along the main street of San Diego, Texas.

"Forsythe " announced the trainman in a loud voice. "That is where we get off, is it not " asked Tad Butler. "Yes, this is the place," answered Professor Zepplin. "I don't see any place," objected Stacy Brown, peering from the car window. "Where is it?" "You'll see it in a minute," said Walter Perkins. "Chunky, we are too busy to bother answering all your silly questions. Why don't you get a railroad guide? Town's on the other side. It's one of those one-sided towns. Use your eyes more and your tongue less," added Ned Rector impatiently.

"Oh, let me get up. Let me ride him for two minutes, Walter." Walter Perkins brought his pony to a slow stop and glanced down hesitatingly into the pleading blue eyes of the freckle-faced boy at his side. "Please I'll only ride him up to the end of the block and back, and I won't go fast, either. Let me show you how I can ride him," urged Tad Butler, with a note of insistence in his voice.

Leaving the main branch of Delaware Creek, a broad, sluggish stream that slowly made its way toward the muddy Pecos River, a party of horsemen turned up the west branch. Horses and men alike were wearied, dusty, perspiring and sleepy under the glare of a midsummer Texas sun. Little had been said for some time. None felt like talking. For hours they had been working south by west, urged on by the green of the foliage that they could see a short distance ahead. At least it had seemed a short distance for the last five hours, but the green trees now appeared to be just as far away as when the...

"Ow, Wow, Wow, Wow Y-E-O-W " Tad Butler, who was industriously chopping wood at the rear of the woodshed of his home, finished the tough, knotted stick before looking up. The almost unearthly chorus of yells behind him had not even startled the boy or caused him to cease his efforts until he had completed what he had set out to do. This finished, Tad turned a smiling face to the three brown-faced young men who were regarding him solemnly.

"If this is the desert, then I think I prefer mountains," decided Stacy Brown. "It is not the desert. We have not reached it yet. This is the Diamond Range," replied Tom Parry, who was to guide the Pony Rider Boys across the great Nevada Desert. "We shall soon be there, however." "You'll know the place when you see it, Chunky," said Ned Rector. "And feel it, too, I guess," added Tad Butler under his breath. "We have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide. "Were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert."

"What was that?" "Only one of the boys in the seat behind us, snoring." "Sure they're asleep?" "Yes, but what if they're not? They are only kids. They wouldn't understand." "Don't you be too sure about that. I've heard about those kids. Heard about 'em over in Nevada. There's four of them. They call themselves the Pony Rider Boys; and they're no tenderfeet, if all I hear is true. They have done some pretty lively stunts."

"Boys B-o-y-s " There was no response to the imperative summons. Professor Zepplin sat up in his cot, listening intently. Something had awakened him suddenly, but just what he was unable to decide. "Be quiet over there, young men," he admonished, adding in a lower tone, "I'm sure I heard some one moving about."