e entire company. The boys
had little leisure, but Joe managed to get a letter off to the
government lighthouse board, asking for news of his father, Nathaniel
Duncan.

In reply he got a communication stating that a Mr. Duncan was stationed
as assistant keeper at a light near San Diego, and not far from Point
Loma.

"That's where we want to head for, then," said Joe, as he talked the
matter over with his chum. "I wonder if that will suit Mr. Ringold?"

It did, as the theatrical manager stated, when the subject was broached
to him. Accordingly arrangements were made to ship everything there.

The day came to bid farewell to Flagstaff, which had been the stopping
place of the theatrical troupe for several months. They had made many
friends, and the Indians had become so used to taking their parts in the
dramas, and in getting good pay for it, that they were very sorry to see
the "palefaces" leave. So, too, were the cowboys, many of whom had
become very friendly with our heroes and the theatrical people.

"But we've got to go," said Blake, as he shook hands with his
acquaintances.

"Indeed, if we didn't leave soon," said Joe, "I'd be tempted to start
off by myself. I've sent a letter to my dad, telling him all about how
strangely I found him, and I'm just aching to see him. I guess he'll be
pretty well surprised to get it."

"I should imagine so," agreed Blake.

"One last round-up to say good-bye!" cried one of the cowboys, as the
party started away from the quarters they had occupied. "Everybody get
in on this. Whoop her up, boys!"

He leaped to his steed, flourished his hat, and began riding around in a
circle, firing his big revolver at intervals.

"That's the ticket!" shouted the others, as they followed his example.

Soon two score of the light-hearted chaps were riding around the little
crowd of the boys and their friends, saluting them, and saying farewell
in this lively fashion.

"Whoop her up!"

"Never say die!"

"Come again, and we'll exterminate a whole band of redskins for you!"

"And have a cattle stampede made to order any day you want!"

These were only a few of the many expressions from the cowboys.

"Say, if they don't kill themselves, they'll make us deaf, with all that
noise," predicted C. C.

"This isn't a funeral," declared Mr. Hadley. "It's a jolly occasion,
Gloomy Gus!"

"Huh! Jolly? First you know some one will be hurt."

But no one was, in spite of the direful predictions,