.
Among the rangers broke out a frenzied dispute as to which ones should
be chosen. That was more than the guides could stand for. No ranger
could put that over on _them_. They pushed in and loudly demanded their
rights from the owners of the fightin' badgers. In fair play to both
sides, Frank Winess was chosen from the ranger force and a sheik
stage-driver, newly arrived, represented Fred Harvey. The guides were
forced to be satisfied with this arrangement. We disbanded to meet at
seven for the fight. In case the other badger made good his escape we
could still have a look at the one already in captivity and the evening
would not be wasted.

"Better wear your riding boots," Ranger Winess advised me. "Badgers
scratch and fight like forty, and you know your failing when it comes to
getting into the middle of a bad fix." I didn't reply to this, but I put
on my high boots.

At seven we reached the scene of battle. I was not entirely pleased with
the idea of letting two frantic animals scratch each other to death, but
the Chief seemed quite serene and I had the utmost confidence in his
kindness to dumb animals. Two or three hundred onlookers, including
tourists, were circled around an open space, which was lighted with
automobile headlights. Under each of two big wooden boxes at opposite
sides of the circle, a combatant lay.

"Stand well back," ordered the Chief. And the crowd edged away. "Hey,
you, Billy, I said no betting!" Billy Joint hastily pocketed the roll of
bills he had been airing.

"What's wrong, Frank?" For Ranger Winess limped into the ring, flinching
at every step.

"Nothin', Chief," bravely trying to cover up the pain with a grin.

"I asked you what's the matter!"

"Well, gee whiz, if you have to know everything, one of them broncs
piled up with me this afternoon, and I busted my knee."

The Chief felt sorry for Frank, because he knew how his heart was set on
the sport in hand.

"Sorry, Winess, but you'll have to step out and let Charley take your
place."

Ranger Fisk began to protest: "Gee, Chief, I ain't a fightin' man. I
don't hanker to hold that tearing varmint." Frank was too crushed to say
anything. But Shorty--in the foremost ranks stood Shorty! No guide so
wonderfully chapped, so brightly handkerchiefed, so amazingly shirted,
or so loudly perfumed as Shorty. He had a tourist girl on his manly arm
and he longed for worlds to conquer.

He advanced with a firm and determined tread. "Look h