South Bend news-times. (South Bend, Ind.) 1913-1938, 1921-05-01

rope 10 the horn Of a saddle. Others
were getting out their six-shooters.
Boys" said Ranse. I'm much
obliged. I was hOwping you would.
But I didn't like TO ask"
Half a dozen six-shooters began to
pop-awful yells rent the air-Long
Collins galIoped wildly across Curly
bed, dragging the saddle after him.
That was merely their way OF gently
awaking their victim. Then they
hazed him for an hour. carefully
and ridiculously. after the code OF
COW camps. Whenever he uttered "A
protest they held him stretched over
a roll Of blankets and thrashed him
woefuIly with a pair Of leather leg
gings.
And all this meant that Curly had
won his spurs. that he was receiving
the puncher's accOlade. Nevermore
would they be polite TO him. But he
would be their "pardner" and stir
rup-brother, foot TO foot.
When the footing was ended all
hands made a raid on Joc's big cof-
fee-pot by the fire for a Java night
cap. Ranse watched the new knight
carefully 10 see IL he understood
and was worthy. Curly limped with
his cup OF coffee TO a log and sat
upon it. Long Collins followed and
sat by his side. Buck Rabb went
and sat at the other. Curly-grin-
ned.
And then Ranse furnished Curly
with mounts and saddle and equip
ment. and turned him over 10 Buck
Rabb, instructing him TO finish the
job.
Three weeks later Ranse rode from
the ranch into Rabb's camp, which
was then in Snake valley. The
boys were saddling for the days
ride. He sought out Long Collins
among them
How about that brOnco?' he ask
ed. Long Collins grinned.
Reach out your hand, Ranse
Truesdell." he said, "and you'll touch
him. And you can shake his'n, too
if you like. for he's plumb white and
there's none better in no camp"
Ranse looked again at the clear
faced, bronzed, smiling cowpuncheI
who stood at Collins side. Gould
that be Curly? He held out his hand
and Curly grasped it with the mus
/ Giles of a bronco-buster.
81 want you at the ranch" SAID
Ranse.
"All right. sport" said Curly
heartily. But L want to come back
again. Say, pal. this is a dandy
farm. And 1 don't want any better
fun than hustlin' cows with thi
bunch of guys. They're all TO tn,
merry merry"
At the Cibolo ranch-house they dis
mounted. Ranse bade Curly wait a
the door of the living room. HI
walked inside. Old "Kiowa" Trues
dell was reading at a table.
"Good-morning, Mr.. Truesdell,
said Ranse.
The old man turned his whit,
head quickly.
How is this?" he began. "Wh!
do you call me Mr."
When he looked at Ranse's fac,
he stopped. and the hand that helC
his newspaper shook slightly.
Boy" he said slowly. how die
you find oUt?"
It's all right" said Ranse, with ;
smile. II made Tia Juana tell me
1t was kind of by accident, but it,
all right
You've been like a son TO me,
said old "KiOwo," trembling.
Tia Juana told me all about IL,
said Ranse. ''She told me how yol
adopted me when l was knee-high L
a puddle duck out of a wagon train
of prospectors that was bound west
And she told me how the kid-yOu
own kid, you know-got lost or wa!
run away with. And she said il wa
the same day that the sheep-shear
ers got on a bender and left tn
ranch"
"Our boy strayed from the hous'
when he was two years old" said tn
old man. And then along came
these emigrant wagons with a young
ster they didn't want; and we tool
you. l never intended you to know
Ranse. We never heard of our DO.
again
He's right outside, unless n
nightly mistaken, said Ranse. open
ing the door and reckoning.
Curly walked in.
No one could have doubted. TIL
old man and the young had tn
same nose, chin, line Of face, an'
prominent light-blue eyes.
Old "Kiowa" rose eagerly.
Curly looked about the room cur
iously. A puzzled expression cam
over his face. He pointed to tn
wall opposite.
Where's the tick-tock?" he asked
absent mindedly.
1.-The clock" cried old "Kiowa'
loudly. THE eight-day clock tina
used to stand there. Why"
He turned to Ranse, but RAMS
was not there.
Already a hundred yards away
Vaminos, the good fleat-bitten dun
was bearing him eastward like {;
racer through dust and chapparra
toward the Raucho de los OlmOs.
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