he hay, and from it emerged a short and slender youth in
uniform. He bristled up to the huge puncher.

"What d'you think you're doing, fellow?"

The cowpuncher sat down on a feed-rack and laughed till he was weak.
"Drinks are on me, son," he gasped at last. "I 'most fed you to my
hawss."

"Mebbe you think because I ain't as big as a house you can sit there an'
laugh at me. I'll have you know you can't," the boy snapped.

"Fellow, I'm not laughin' at you. Napoleon was a runt, I've heard tell.
But it was comical, you stickin' yore head up through the hay thataway.
I'll stand pat on that, an' I ain't a-going to fight about it either."

The soldier's dignity melted to a grin. "Did you say drinks was on you,
Jumbo?"

After Big Bill had fed his horse they went away arm in arm to see what
Dolan could do for them in the way of liquid refreshment.

Just before the rangers and soldiers saddled for the start, Dud jingled
over to his friend who was helping to pack the supply-wagons.

"Lady wants to see you, Bob. I'll take yore place here," Dud said.

Dillon lifted a barrel half full of flour into the nearest wagon and
straightened a body cramped from stooping. "What lady?" he asked.

"Listen to the fellow," derided Hollister. "How many ladies has he got on
the string, do you reckon?" The fair-haired cowpuncher grinned. "You
meander round to the back of the hotel an' I expect you'll meet up with
the lady. Mollie Larson she--"

"Oh, Mrs. Larson." For a moment a wild hope had flamed in Bob's heart.
His thoughts had flashed to another woman in the hotel.

"Why, yes. Mollie runs the hotel, don't she? Was you lookin' for some
other lady to send for you?" Dud asked innocently.

Bob did not answer this. He was already striding toward the hotel.

Out of the darkness of the adobe wall shadow a slim figure moved to meet
the ranger. The young fellow's heart lost a beat.

"I--wanted to see you before you left," a low voice said.

A kind of palsy came over Dillon. He stood motionless, no life in him
except for the eloquent eyes. No words came to help him.

"I thought--maybe--" June stopped, hesitated, and came out impetuously
with what was in her mind. "Aren't we _ever_ going to be friends again,
Bob?"

A warm glow suffused him. The back of his eyes smarted with tears. He
started to speak, but stopped. For he was boyishly ashamed to discover
that he could not trust his voice.

"Don't you like me any more?" she asked. "Have