o Curly.

"Brother," he said, "don't you think if you had a bath it would allow
you to take a seat in the company of your fellow-man with less
injustice to the atmosphere."

"Run away, farmer," said Curly, sardonically. "Willie will send for
nursey when he feels like having his tub."

The /charco/, or water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of
Curly's ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink.
Then with the strength and sleight of a hammer-throw he hurled the
offending member of society far into the lake.

Curly crawled out and up the bank spluttering like a porpoise.

Ranse met him with a piece of soap and a coarse towel in his hands.

"Go to the other end of the lake and use this," he said. "Buck will
give you some dry clothes at the wagon."

The tramp obeyed without protest. By the time supper was ready he had
returned to camp. He was hardly to be recognised in his new shirt and
brown duck clothes. Ranse observed him out of the corner of his eye.

"Lordy, I hope he ain't a coward," he was saying to himself. "I hope
he won't turn out to be a coward."

His doubts were soon allayed. Curly walked straight to where he stood.
His light-blue eyes were blazing.

"Now I'm clean," he said meaningly, "maybe you'll talk to me. Think
you've got a picnic here, do you? You clodhoppers think you can run
over a man because you know he can't get away. All right. Now, what do
you think of that?"

Curly planted a stinging slap against Ranse's left cheek. The print of
his hand stood out a dull red against the tan.

Ranse smiled happily.

The cowpunchers talk to this day of the battle that followed.

Somewhere in his restless tour of the cities Curly had acquired the
art of self-defence. The ranchman was equipped only with the splendid
strength and equilibrium of perfect health and the endurance conferred
by decent living. The two attributes nearly matched. There were no
formal rounds. At last the fibre of the clean liver prevailed. The
last time Curly went down from one of the ranchman's awkward but
powerful blows he remained on the grass, but looking up with an
unquenched eye.

Ranse went to the water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his
chin in the stream from the faucet.

On his face was a grin of satisfaction.

Much benefit might accrue to educators and moralists if they could
know the details of the curriculum of reclamation through which Ranse
put his waif during the month th