ence, and, as he made his way toward
the home ranch, in the late afternoon, he looked a very different man
from the Patches who, several months before, had been rescued by Kitty
from a humiliating experience with that same fence.

The fact that he was now riding Stranger, the big bay with the blazed
face, more than anything else, perhaps, marked the change that had come
to the man whom the horse had so viciously tested, on that day when they
began together their education and work on the Cross-Triangle Ranch.

No one meeting the cowboy, who handled his powerful and wild spirited
mount with such easy confidence and skill, would have identified him
with the white-faced, well-tailored gentleman whom Phil had met on the
Divide. The months of active outdoor life had given his tall body a
lithe and supple strength that was revealed in his every movement, while
wind and sun had stained his skin that deep tan which marks those who
must face the elements every waking hour. Prom tinkling bridle chain and
jingling spur, to the coiled riata, his equipment showed the
unmistakable marks of use. His fringed chaps, shaped, by many a day in
the saddle, to his long legs, expressed experience, while his broad hat,
soiled by sweat and dust, had acquired individuality, and his very
jumper--once blue but now faded and patched--disclaimed the tenderfoot.

Riding for a little way along the top of the ridge that forms the
western edge of the valley, Patches looked down upon the red roofs of
the buildings of the home ranch, and smiled as he thought of the welcome
that awaited him there at the close of his day's work. The Dean and
Stella, with Little Billy, and Phil, and the others of the home circle,
had grown very dear to this strong man of whom they still knew nothing;
and great as was the change in his outward appearance and manner, the
man himself knew that there were other changes as great. Honorable
Patches had not only acquired a name and a profession, but in acquiring
them he had gained something of much greater worth to himself. And so he
was grateful to those who, taking him on trust, had helped him more than
they knew.

He had left the ridge, and was half way across the flat toward the
corrals, when Little Billy, spurring old Sheep in desperate energy, rode
wildly out to meet him.

As the lad approached, he greeted his big friend with shrill, boyish
shouts, and Patches answered with a cowboy yell which did credit to his
training,