s force together and they took up their march for home,
jubilant at the success of the expedition.

"It's all due to you, you young dare-devil," said Melton, as he and the
reunited comrades rode back at the head of the squad. "Sandy found your
pony neighing to get in the corral, and brought your note to Dick. I
nabbed Pedro and handled him some savage until the fellow wilted. Then we
saddled and started out at the first sign of daybreak and you know the
rest. And I guess, by thunder, that we got here just in time."

And when they reached the ranch, motherly Mrs. Melton folded him in her
arms with tears in her eyes, unable to speak. She washed and bandaged the
wound, which proved to be not serious, and sent him straightway off to
bed. Bert laughingly protested, but he had to yield.

* * * * *

It was with immense regret, a few days later, that the boys parted from
their warm-hearted host and hostess. But duty and the East were calling,
and they had to go. They had passed a glorious summer, full of the
excitement in which their adventurous souls delighted. Far out from the
car windows they leaned and waved their hands, until the kindly figures
on the platform were lost to sight.

The cowboys too had turned out in a body to bid their friends good-by,
and, as the train started, they tossed their hats in the air and fired
their six-shooters till their cartridges gave out. Then they wheeled
their bronchos and headed for the ranch.

"No use talkin'," Sandy broke out suddenly that night as they were
smoking their pipes in the bunkhouse, "that Wilson is the finest feller
that ever wore shoe leather."

Buck, who was half asleep, roused himself.

"Oh, I wouldn't go quite so far as that," he drawled, mistaking the
reference. "Still, he's makin' a pretty fair President."

"Shucks," snorted Sandy, "I didn't mean _him_. I was talkin' of Bert."

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Bert Wilson in the Rockies, by J. W. Duffield

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