him. I went up to the store and borrowed a razor from that
fresh guy and had a shave. But that ain't all a man needs. Say--can't
you loosen up for about three fingers more of that booze? I never
asked you to bring me to your d----d farm."

"Stand up out here in the light," said Ranse, looking at him closely.

Curly got up sullenly and took a step or two.

His face, now shaven smooth, seemed transformed. His hair had been
combed, and it fell back from the right side of his forehead with a
peculiar wave. The moonlight charitably softened the ravages of drink;
and his aquiline, well-shaped nose and small, square cleft chin almost
gave distinction to his looks.

Ranse sat on the foot of the cot and looked at him curiously.

"Where did you come from--have you got any home or folks anywhere?"

"Me? Why, I'm a dook," said Curly. "I'm Sir Reginald--oh, cheese it.
No; I don't know anything about my ancestors. I've been a tramp ever
since I can remember. Say, old pal, are you going to set 'em up again
to-night or not?"

"You answer my questions and maybe I will. How did you come to be a
tramp?"

"Me?" answered Curly. "Why, I adopted that profession when I was an
infant. Case of had to. First thing I can remember, I belonged to a
big, lazy hobo called Beefsteak Charley. He sent me around to houses
to beg. I wasn't hardly big enough to reach the latch of a gate."

"Did he ever tell you how he got you?" asked Ranse.

"Once when he was sober he said he bought me for an old six-shooter
and six bits from a band of drunken Mexican sheep-shearers. But what's
the diff? That's all I know."

"All right," said Ranse. "I reckon you're a maverick for certain. I'm
going to put the Rancho Cibolo brand on you. I'll start you to work in
one of the camps to-morrow."

"Work!" sniffed Curly, disdainfully. "What do you take me for? Do you
think I'd chase cows, and hop-skip-and-jump around after crazy sheep
like that pink and yellow guy at the store says these Reubs do? Forget
it."

"Oh, you'll like it when you get used to it," said Ranse. "Yes, I'll
send you up one more drink by Pedro. I think you'll make a first-class
cowpuncher before I get through with you."

"Me?" said Curly. "I pity the cows you set me to chaperon. They can go
chase themselves. Don't forget my nightcap, please, boss."

Ranse paid a visit to the store before going to the house. Sam Revell
was taking off his tan shoes regretfully and preparing for bed.

"Any of