seen men closer than a mile, except'n' it wuz Injuns, an' they don't
count, until we butted in on 'em. They belonged ter ole man Stallings. I
reckon you remember him, what we met on our way ter Fort Grant, when yer
run erway an' got lost on Red Mesa."

Stella nodded.

"I wuz lookin' fer a bunch o' cow hosses. We sold a big run o' 'em ter a
Newbrasky cowman who was short o' saddle stock, an' who said he'd heard
we had the best-broke cow ponies in ther West, an' I reckon we had. He
was willin' ter pay a good price fer our spare stock, an' we unloaded."

"Then you will have to break in a lot of new ones. Isn't that a waste of
time?"

"Young woman, we're ranchmen, not rockin'-chair gents. It's part o' our
business ter take somethin' what ain't much good, an' make it better.
That's the way we earn our bread an' bacon."

"So I see."

"Ted says ter me ter go up inter Montana an' pick up a lot o' good,
gingery hosses, an' I struck John Stallings. He says ter me, when I made
my wants known, 'Go out on ther range an' he'p yerself,' says he.
'They're all mine, an' Ted Strong an' his boys kin hev anythin' I've got
except my fam'ly. But,' says he, 'you'll find some purty lively stock
out there.'"

"Well, you did," said Stella, laughing.

"I reckon I picked out ther orneriest hosses in the whole West, an' I'm
savin' them fer some o' these Smart-aleck cowboys who'll be here from
ther ranches round, who think they kin ride," and he winked wisely.

"Gracious, look there!" she cried. "What's Ted trying to do. He'll be
hurt, Bud."

"No, I reckon not, but I'll git in thar handy ter help him if he needs
it. Keep the kid outer ther way if that bunch breaks."

Ted had done what none of the others had succeeded in doing.

He had forced his way into the very center of the bunch of wild horses,
wheeling and doubling and riding like a circus performer, to avoid the
batteries of flying heels, until he was close to the wicked black
stallion, which was all that held the bunch together and prevented it
from being broken up and driven to the upper end of the ranch, where it
belonged.

There was not a moment when he was not in danger. A chance kick might
break his leg, or bring down his horse, in which event he must be kicked
to death or badly hurt by being trampled on.

But so far they had not been able to reach him.

"Be careful, Ted," cried Stella.

He waved his hand at her with a smile, and she hurried Lilian beyond the
reach of danger.

Ted wheeled his horse to face the black brute, which stood looking at
him with wicked eyes, its ears flattened like those of a panther. In
spite of its evil temper Ted admired it for its lithe beauty. It was as
clean of limb as a thoroughbred, and its black skin shone like polished
ebony. While he was looking at it thus it suddenly sprang at him, reared
on its hind legs, striking at him like a boxer. Had he not wheeled on
the instant it would have killed him. Ted was thoroughly angry, and went
to the attack himself, beating the horse about the head with his quirt.
When the horse rushed at him through a rain of blows across its nose Ted
retreated beyond reach of its hoofs, then attacked it again.

Suddenly the black horse wheeled and presented its heels, and Ted rode
around it, lashing it well, everywhere the whip could reach.

Although the horse continued to lash out with his heels he struck
nothing, and always his enemy was at his side or in front.

At last Ted resolved to bring the unequal combat to an end, as Sultan
was tiring of the exercise, so instead of riding around the enraged
horse, he pivoted with it, keeping in front of it all the time and
whipping it on the nose.

The "insurgent" stopped kicking at last and stood with drooping head,
trying to shield its face from that cruel, relentless, stinging thing
which the man creature wielded. He was cowed, but not conquered.

Taking advantage of the moment, Ted drove him backward and clear of his
companions. Seeing their leader retreat, the other horses broke their
close formation, and allowed themselves to be driven down the valley,
not without an occasional rebellious kick, however.




CHAPTER III.

STELLA GOES TO THE "RENT RAG."


"Oh, joy, an' pickled pelicans!" said Bud Morgan, skipping onto the
veranda one evening, when all the boys were sitting around Stella and
Mrs. Graham.

Bud had just returned from Soldier Butte, where he had been spending the
afternoon.

"What's devouring you now?" asked Ben Tremont. "Or is it just one of
your weekly sillies?"

"Who are yer alludin' at?" asked Bud loftily.

"As you were going to say--" suggested Kit, looking at Bud.

"Boys, thar's goin' ter be a 'rent rag' in the Butte ter-morrer night,
an' we all have an urgent bid ter be present."

"A what?" asked Stella.

"A 'rent rag.'"

"Who tore it?" asked Stella innocently.

At this the boys laughed loud and long, then apologized when they saw
Stella's embarrassment.

"It ain't tore yet," said Bud, "but it's lierble ter be before ther rosy
dawn."

"What are you talking about?" said Stella impatiently. "I never saw such
provoking boys. You say such strange things, then cackle over it as
though there was a joke in it, which nobody seems to see except
yourself."

"A 'rent rag' is a--'rent rag,'" said Kit, trying to explain.

"That sounds as sensible as the conundrum, 'Why is a hen?'" said Stella.
"Must I ask the question and get caught? All right, here goes. What is a
'rent rag'? Now, don't tell me, some one, that it is a rag that has been
torn, for I exploded that one myself."

"A 'rent rag,'" said Bud slowly and carefully, "is a rag for rent.
A--a--er--well, it's a--"

"Tell me, Ted," said the girl, turning to the leader of the outfit, who
was leaning back in his chair smiling at the ridiculous conversation.

"Well, as near as I can make out it is a bit of slang that means this:
The word 'rag' is the slang for a public dance. When a man in town who
is popular enough falls behind in paying his rent, through some
misfortune or other, and owes so much he cannot hope to pay it, he hands
out a flag that he wants help. In other words, it is an invitation to
his friends to organize a public ball for his benefit. It depends upon
his honesty and popularity whether or not they do so."

"That's the strangest thing I ever heard of."

"Well, if the thing goes through, a hall is rented and music is engaged,
the cost of which is to be deducted from the money taken at the door.
Then the man for whose benefit the ball is given and his wife prepare a
lot of sandwiches, fried chicken, and other eatables, and a tub or two
of lemonade, and help their profits along."

"So that is a 'rent rag,' eh? Who is the man for whom the dance is to be
given, Bud?" asked Stella.

"A feller named Martin, whose wife has been sick all summer," answered
Bud. "From what they say, I reckon he's all right. Jest ter be a good
feller I bought ten tickets, at one bean per ticket."

"Is that all they are?" asked Stella. "Only one bean? Gracious, they'll
have to dispose of an awful lot of tickets to get enough beans to sell
to pay their rent with! Why don't they make it something else? I'd like
to contribute a dollar, at least. A bean a ticket, pshaw! How awfully
cheap! I guess he doesn't owe much."

At this remark the boys fairly cackled.

"Now, what are you laughing at?" cried Stella, almost angry. "I seem to
be more humorous to-night than I ever thought possible. I can hardly say
a word but you all start to laugh at me."

This was too much for the boys. They couldn't restrain themselves and
went off into peals of laughter. When they saw the danger signals of two
bright spots in Stella's cheeks, they realized that they had gone too
far, and all hastily tried to explain. But Ted was before them, and
quietly told Stella that in the expressive, if scarcely lucid, language
of the day a "bean," in the sense in which Bud had used it, meant a
dollar.

"Such silly slang," said Stella, restored to good humor once more. "I
don't mind slang if it's clever and reveals or conceals or twists a word
in some sensible way, but a bean for a dollar--no, it won't do. The
fellow who invented that should try again. The only fun I can see in
slang is its aptness."

The boys murmured something to the effect that it wasn't a particularly
witty bit of slang, but they continued to grin at one another.

"Suppose we all go to the 'rent rag,'" said Stella suddenly. "I never
saw anything of the sort, and I'm crazy to go."

"It's likely to be pretty rough, and break up in a row before its
natural time," said Ted.

"We'll only stay a short while," said Stella. "But I should like to do
my share toward helping the poor fellow."

"It's done already. I bought ten tickets. Thet's as much ez they expect
from ther Moon Valley Ranch, an' it goes inter ther running expenses o'
ther ranch, anyhow, in ther charity account."

"I don't care, I want to go."

"I move we go," said Ben. "It will add some tone to the proceedings."

"Ben wants to air his spike-tailed coat and low-neck vest," said Kit.

"Not for me," said Ben, laughing. "I wonder what those cow-punchers and
miners and gamblers would do with a chap who sauntered in there in
evening dress."

"He shore would come up ter Stella's conception of a rent rag, which is
a torn rag," said Kit.

"Ted, won't we go?" pleaded Stella.

"Sure, if you want to; you are our guest, and whatever you want, all you
have to do is to ask for it," answered Ted.

It was agreed that they should wear their everyday uniforms, and Stella
was for going in her distinctive cowgirl costume, but this Mrs. Graham
would not permit, and insisted that she should wear a frock which she
had had made in Denver.

When, the next night, Stella walked into the living room, where the boys
were waiting to escort her and Mrs. Graham to the ball, there was a
general exclamation of wonder and admiration, at which Stella hesitated
with a blush, then came forward with smiling assurance.

Instead of the bold and dashing Stella in her bifurcated riding skirt
and bolero jacket, the boys saw a beautiful young woman in a pale-blue
gown of silk and chiffon, with her pretty hair piled on top of her head,
instead of flowing over her shoulders.

For a moment they were awed. They had never seen her so, and perhaps had
never thought of her as being a young lady. Most of them were content to
regard her just as Stella, their girl pard, and to-night she had given
them a surprise.

At her throat was a superb sapphire set in a brooch, which had come out
of the broncho boys' sapphire mines on Yogo Creek, and in her hair was
an ornament of diamonds and rubies which the boys had made from jewels
which had come as their share of the treasures of the Montezumas, which
they had discovered beneath the castle of Chepultapec, near the city of
Mexico.

Altogether Stella was very stunning, and in their admiration of her in
this new role of society girl the boys were between two preferences, as
she was now, and as they knew her in the saddle, throwing her lariat or
handling her revolver.

Most of them, however, came to the conclusion that she was still Stella,
no matter what she wore.

"Say, Stella, that's not fair," drawled Ben, "to dress up like that and
make us wear our working togs. I've got a good mind to go and get into
my spike."

"If you do, I won't go," said Stella. "Unless the other boys wear theirs
also. You and I would look fine going in there dressed up, and the other
boys as they are now. No, I wouldn't have worn this dress if aunt hadn't
insisted upon it, and this time I couldn't shake her determination. I
hate it, and would much rather have my working clothes on. But, never
mind, it won't be for long. How do you like me in this?" She revolved
slowly before them.

"Scrumptious!" said Ben appreciatively.

"Prettier than a basket of peaches," ejaculated Kit.

"Thar ain't nothin' in art er nature what kin show up more gaudy," said
Bud. "Except, mebbe, it might be a pink rose in er garden at airly
mornin' with ther dew on it."

"Say, hasn't Bud got us all faded?" said Ben. "I didn't know the old
sandpiper had so much poetry in his soul."

"So perfectionately lofely a younk lady nefer did I saw," exclaimed
Carl, clasping his hands and holding them before him, while he rolled
his eyes toward the ceiling.

"She's all thet," said Bud. "But come down ter airth. Stella ain't up
among ther rafters."

Ted had said nothing, and Stella looked at him. He was regarding her
attentively.

Her look said: "What do _you_ think?"

He answered it with a look of admiration that satisfied her that he
thought her perfect.

"I think I like you best in the everyday clothes," he said quietly. "But
that gown is as if you were made for it and it was made for you."

The thought had come into Ted's mind that some day, in the far future,
they would lose their girl pard, and society or duties elsewhere would
claim her.

Stella understood him and agreed with him.

Soon they were ready to start for the ball. The carriage was got out and
Carl volunteered to drive the horses, while the other boys rode.

Just as they were about to start Stella cried: "Where is Jack Slate? I
don't see him. Isn't he coming to the ball?"

"Haven't saw him," said Bud. "I reckon he'll be moseyin' erlong after a
while. We won't wait fer him. He knowed when we wuz goin' ter start."

"He came in a little while ago from the lower pasture," said Kit, "and
went to his room. He said he had been thrown by his horse, and that the
jar had given him a headache."

"Oh, don't let us wait for him," said Ben. "If he gets to feeling better
he'll be along. You couldn't keep Jack away from a ball with an
injunction."

So they proceeded to town, the boys acting as outriders to the girl,
whom they were convinced would be the belle of the ball.

When they arrived at the hall in Soldier Butte they found the people
flocking in, as Martin, the beneficiary, was a very popular fellow, and
any man in hard luck in the West always gets all the help he needs, if
he deserves it.

Ted escorted Stella into the ballroom, while Ben followed with Mrs.
Graham, the other boys taking the horses around to the corral.

As Ted and Stella entered the room there was a hum of admiration, and
conversation stopped as men and women craned their necks to look at the
handsome couple.

Ted was both proud and pleased, but a little bit embarrassed at the
attention they received, while Stella held her head up proudly, with a
look of indifference on her face, as if she had been used to admiration
all her life.

The ball certainly was a mixed affair.

In one corner were a lot of army officers and their ladies.

All down the sides of the ballroom cowboys were sitting with girls from
the ranches. Town girls and boys had a corner to themselves. The
gamblers flocked together, and miners and others wandered here and
there, mixing with cavalrymen from the fort.

When the boys returned from the corral they found that Mrs. Graham and
Stella and their escorts had preempted a vacant corner.

There was a piano in the room, but no one to play it. Soon, however, a
fellow dressed after the cowboy fashion entered and took a seat on a
raised platform, producing a fiddle from a green bag.

A round of applause greeted him.

He tuned his instrument, and after a few preliminary scrapes began to
play a monotonous tune, repeating over and over again the same few bars.

At the first scrape the cowboys and their girls leaped to the floor and
began to dance, but none of the people from the fort cared to dance to
such music.

Suddenly the door flew open and a band of a dozen cow-punchers walked
into the room, and were greeted by joyous shouts by the other cowboys in
the hall.

At their head was a handsome young fellow, slender and dark, with a
resolute face and a pair of piercing eyes that flashed around the room
for the purpose of seeing and locating his possible enemies.

"Who is that?" asked Stella.

"That's Billy Sudden," answered Ted.

"And who is he?"

"Foreman at 'Cow' Suggs' ranch. That's the Suggs bunch of cow-punchers.
There'll be something doing here to-night."

"Why?"

"There are a lot of fellows in this part of the country who don't like
Billy, and some of them are liable to tread on his feet."

"Oh, is he quarrelsome?"

"No, Billy is the best sort of a fellow, but he won't let any one hobble
him. When he first went to the Dumb-bell Ranch, as the Circle-bar Circle
is called, they took him for a kid and tried to run over him. He kicked
them, then fired them, and they don't like him."

"Did you see him look around the room?"

"Yes, he has every man who is likely to make trouble for him spotted and
located. But we won't wait long enough to see the trouble. I never did
like trouble myself."

"Well, for a chap who gets into it as often as you do--"

"What's the trouble now, over there?" interrupted Ted, looking at the
door.

Around the entrance to the hall was a crowd of young town fellows led by
a youth named Wiley Creviss, the son of the local banker, a dissipated
and reckless young man, and a crowd of cow-punchers.

They were shoving some one here and there, making a punching bag of him,
at the same time laughing uproariously.

Just then Ted saw the head of Jack Slate in the mix-up.

"Excuse me," said Ted, turning to Stella. "Ben, take care of the ladies
until I return."

He strode across the floor toward the door.

As he neared it he heard Billy Sudden say:

"Be careful, there. That is one of Ted Strong's fellows."

"I don't care if it is," said some one. "I'd give it to Strong just as
hard if he was here."

"Here I am," said Ted, pushing through the crowd.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TROUBLE IS STARTED.


The crowd of men and youths opened out in front of Ted, and he strode
into the circle.

There he saw Jack Slate in a much disheveled condition, dressed in his
evening clothes.

Ted gasped as he stared for an instant at the youth from Boston.

He wanted to tell Jack that "it served him right," but that was not the
part of loyalty, and in the presence of the enemy it did not make any
difference to a broncho boy if his pard was right or wrong, if he was in
need of help.

"Where is the fellow who was going to throw me around?" asked Ted,
looking into the faces about him.

No one replied, although Ted waited for a moment or two before looking
at Billy Sudden.

Billy winked at him, but said nothing.

"Seems as if somebody's sand has run out," said Ted contemptuously.

"Oh, I don't know," said Wiley Creviss. "There's plenty of sand left if
you need any to prevent your wheels from slipping downhill."

"No, my sand box is always full," said Ted quietly. "But there is some
sneak in this bunch who hasn't the nerve to back up his brag."

"Are you talking to me?" said Creviss, swelling up as to chest.

"Oh, are you the misguided chump whom I heard make the remark about
pushing me about, as I came up?" said Ted, in a tone of surprise.

The cowboys from Suggs' ranch were snickering.

"Well, what if I was?"

"I'm going to make you try it."

"Oh, I can do it, all right."

"Well, why don't you? I'm the easiest proposition you ever saw to be
hazed by a bunch of hoodlums, such as you and your pals are!"

"For two cents I'd punch your nose."

"You're too cheap. I'll give you a heap more than that if you will. It's
been so long since my nose was punched that it feels sort of lonesome.
I'll pay you well for the job, if you succeed in pulling off the stunt."

"You think you're the whole works because you've got a crowd of dudes
around you. You're not the only dent in the can."

Ted flushed at this allusion to his pards.

"I'll put a dent in you if you open your face to remark about my friends
again," he said, with some heat.

"See here, you town rough, you better take in your slack and clear out
for home, or you'll begin to taste the sorrows that come from
inexperience and bad judgment," said Billy Sudden to Creviss.

"It's up to you to mind your own business," snarled Creviss. "What are
you but a lot of greasy cow-punchers. We haven't much use for your sort
in this town, anyway."

"Now, son, keep quiet and behave yourself," said Billy paternally. "If
you get me riled I won't be as patient with you as Ted Strong has been.
I'll fix you so as to keep two doctors busy the best part of the night."

"What are you fellows butting in for, anyhow?" said Creviss angrily.
"Can't this freak that comes here in a dress suit and tries to lord it
over us take care of himself?"

"Surest thing you know," drawled Jack Slate. "But there are ladies here,
a thing you don't seem to realize. If you'll step outside, I'd be glad
to whip you right and propah."

"What's the use, Jack, of fussing with these rowdies?" said Ted. "Let it
go until some other time."

"You bet," said Creviss, courage returning when he heard Ted propose
peace. "I guess you'd like to let it go forever."

"That settles it," said Ted. "Go to him, Jack, and if you don't give him
what's coming to him, I'll finish the job."

"Git!" said Billy Sudden, opening the door and shoving Creviss out into
the street. The rest followed.

As Jack stepped into the open air he peeled off his swallow-tailed coat
and threw it over Ted's arm.

He had no sooner done so than Wiley Creviss made a rush at him from the
front, while one of the crowd ran in on him from the rear.

It seemed an unequal beginning, and Ted was preparing to take on the
second fellow.

But Jack had seen him out of the corner of his eye, and as he came on
the Boston boy stepped backward and threw his right elbow up.

It was a timely and masterly trick, for the sharp elbow caught Creviss'
ally full in the nose, and he dropped like a limp rag to the ground,
with a howl of anguish.

At the same moment Jack swung his left. Creviss had struck at him and
missed when he back-stepped, and coming on swiftly ran into Jack's fist
with a thud that jarred him into a state of collapse.

"Finish him!" shouted the cow-punchers, who stood about the fighters in
a circle.

"Go to him," said Ted, in a low voice. "I saw him signal his pal to
tackle you from behind."

Creviss had partially recovered from the blow and was getting ready for
another rush, when Jack slipped in and to one side and hit like a
blacksmith at the anvil.

This time Creviss went down and out.

"Hooray fer ther bantam!" shouted a big cow-puncher, slapping Jack on
the back. "Say, I hear them say you're from Bosting. I'm goin' ter buy a
hundred-pound sack o' beans myself ter-morrer an' begin trainin'. If
beans'll do that fer you, a sack o' them will make me fit ter lick Jess
Willard."

But Jack was busy smoothing down his ruffled hair and pulling his white
lawn tie around into its proper place, and when he had put on his coat
he and Ted walked into the ballroom as calmly as if they had just
stepped out to view the stars.

"What was the trouble?" asked Stella, when they reached her side.

"Some town rowdies became noisy, and they were put out," answered Ted
carelessly.

But Jack's dress suit was the joy of the cow-punchers, who had never
seen anything like it before, although they all knew that it was the way
well-groomed men dressed for evening in the big cities.

"Say, pard," said a cowboy to Jack, as he crossed the room, "I axes yer
pardon fer buttin' in, but yer lost ther front part o' yer coat tails."

"That's all right," answered Jack. "Can't help it, don't you know. I
left the blooming coat hanging on the line at home to air, and a goat
came along and ate the front half of the tails off before I could get to
it. I was just on my way to apologize to the master of ceremonies for
it. You see, it is the only coat I have, and I was bound to come to the
ball."

"Ha, ha! that's on you, 'Honk,'" laughed the cowboy's friends, who had
overheard the conversation, and Jack passed on, the boys alluding to him
as a "game little shrimp," for the news of his summary punishment of
Creviss had got abroad.

But Jack was not through yet. He went into the men's dressing room to
leave his hat. As he was coming out he was met by a crowd of town
youths, friends of Creviss. There was no one else about.

They scowled and sneered at Jack, and one of them bumped into him.

"Heah, fellah, that will do," said Jack, with his Bostonese drawl.
"You're solid; you're no sponge."

"I ain't, eh?" answered the bully. "I'll tell yer, Mr. Slate, you're
covered with bad marks what I don't like, an' I'm just the sponge to