“Young man,” exclaimed a broad-shouldered Missourian, grasping Vance by the hand, as with rumpled clothes and minus his hat he let go his hold and staggered back from the restive and trembling horses, “that was one of the pluckiest things I reckon I’ve seen for a long time.” “That’s what it was, so help me Bob!” cried another demonstrative individual, pressing himself to the fore. “Shake, youngster!” A crowd quickly gathered around the boy, and everybody wanted to take him by the hand and tell him what they thought of his feat. “Here’s your hat!” cried some one on the outskirts of the circle. Half a dozen willing hands were extended to grasp and restore it to its owner. It was really extraordinary what an interest the onlookers had suddenly taken in the Chicago boy. “Oh, come now,” objected Vance, trying to disengage himself from his well-meaning admirers, “I’m really much obliged to you; but I think you might let a fellow go now.” “But you’ve got to drink with us before we can let you part company,” cried one officious six-foot native. “You must excuse me,” said Vance, moving off, “but I don’t drink.” “You don’t drink!” exclaimed several of the men in a breath, falling back at what seemed to them a most unheard-of statement. “Did you say that you didn’t drink?” “That’s exactly what I did say, and I generally mean what I say,” answered the boy in a firm tone. As Vance elbowed his way clear of the mob every one looked at him with the same curiosity they might have bestowed upon some new and extraordinary animal which had unexpectedly dropped in among them. A fellow that did not drink was decidedly something out of the common in Missouri. Vance, however, was rescued from this disagreeable situation by the man whose life he had saved. The big fellow stepped up, and linking his arm with the lad’s, drew him off down the street, saying, in a very pleasant and somewhat musical voice: “Let us get away from this mob, my young friend; I fancy their well-meant intentions are not particularly agreeable to either of us. I can see that you don’t care to be made a hero of, though I never knew one who more deserved the honor.” He spoke in such a breezy, whole-souled way that Vance was instantly prepossessed in his favor. Though he showed the flavor of the untrammeled West in every movement, yet there was nothing rough about him. He was a gentleman from heel to crown. “I am very glad you were not injured by the runaway, sir,” said Vance sincerely. “Thanks to your nerve and presence of mind, I was not; but I had a narrow call for my life. I owe my preservation to you, my brave lad, and I wish you to understand that I am deeply grateful to you. You must let me know your name, for I insist that we shall be better acquainted.” “My name is Vance Thornton.” “Thank you; and mine is William Bradhurst.” “I am pleased to know you, Mr. Bradhurst,” said Vance heartily.