of the
boy.

"Plumb fagged out, kid?" he asked.

"I am tired. Is it far?"

"About four miles. Stick it out, and we'll be there in no time."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir. Call me Bucky."

"Yes, sir."

Bucky laughed. "You're ce'tainly the queerest kid I've run up against.
I guess you didn't scramble up in this rough-and-tumble West like I did.
You're too soft for this country." He let his firm brown fingers travel
over the lad's curly hair and down the smooth cheek. "There it is again.
Shrinking away as if I was going to hurt you. I'll bet a biscuit you
never licked the stuffing out of another fellow in your life."

"No, sir," murmured the youth, and Bucky almost thought he detected a
little, chuckling laugh.

"Well, you ought to be ashamed of it. When come back from old Mexico I'm
going to teach you how to put up your dukes. You're going to ride the
range with me, son, and learn to stick to your saddle when the bronc and
you disagrees. Oh, I'll bet all you need is training. I'll make a man
out of you yet," the ranger assured his charge cheerfully. "Will you?"
came the innocent reply, but Bucky for a moment had the sense of being
laughed at.

"Yes, I 'will you,' sissy," he retorted, without the least exasperation.
"Don't think you know it all. Right now you're riding like a wooden man.
You want to take it easy in the saddle. There's about a dozen different
positions you can take to rest yourself." And Bucky put him through a
course of sprouts. "Don't sit there laughing at folks that knows a heap
more than you ever will get in your noodle, and perhaps you won't be so
done up at the end of a little jaunt like this," he concluded. And to
his conclusion he presently added a postscript: "Why, I know kids your
age can ride day and night for a week on the round-up without being all
in. How old are you, son?"

"Eighteen."

"That's a lie," retorted the ranger, with immediate frankness. "You're
not a day over fifteen, I'll bet."

"I meant to say fifteen," meekly corrected the youth.

"That's another of them. You meant to say eighteen, but you found I
wouldn't swallow it. Now, Master Frank, you want to learn one thing
prompt if you and I are to travel together. I can't stand a liar. You
tell the truth, or I'll give you the best licking you ever had in your
life."

"You're as bad a bully as he is," the boy burst out, flushing angrily.

"Oh, no, I'm not," came the ranger's prompt unmoved answer. "But just
be