Dick and Bob, and the rest of the herdsmen, were off somewhere, attending to the stock.
Frank, being left to himself, tried various plans for his amusement.

He read a few pages in half a dozen different books, took a short gallop over the prairie, shot a brace of quails for his dinner; all the while keeping a bright lookout for his expected visitors, who, however, did not make their appearance.

About noon, he was gratified by hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs in the court.

He ran out, expecting to welcome Johnny and Dick, but, to his disappointment, encountered a stranger, who reined up his horse at the door, and inquired: "Is this Mr.Winters's rancho, young man ?" Frank replied that it was.
"He is at home, I suppose ?" continued the visitor.
"No, sir; he started for the city early this morning." The gentleman said that was very unfortunate, and began to make inquiries concerning the road Mr.Winters generally traveled when he went to San Diego--whether he took the upper or lower trail--and then he wondered what he should do.
"My name is Brown," said he; and Frank knew he was the very man his uncle expected to meet in San Diego.

"I owe Mr.Winters some money for a drove of horses I bought of him before he went to the States, and I have come up to pay it.