CHAPTER VII.
AT HANK LEESON'S CABIN.
At first the boys were inclined to think that the old scout was mistaken—that they could ride as far as anybody. But when, shortly after sunset, they came within sight of Hank Leeson's place both were glad to think that they would have to ride no more for the present.
"I'm sore already," whispered Darry to his cousin.
"So am I—but I didn't want Benson to know it," was the low answer. "That last mile of the trail was awfully rough."
Hank Leeson had seen them coming, and stood at the doorway of his cabin, rifle in hand. He was a tall, thin man, with black eyes that were exceedingly sharp and shrewd. When he recognized Sam Benson he dropped his firearm into a corner and ran to meet the scout.
"Downright glad ter see ye!" he said, shaking hands. "Sam, yer a sight fer sore eyes, thet's wot!"
