“Sure you won’t faint if we get in a tight pinch, Curly?” scoffed O’Connor, even though in his mind he was debating a surrender. For he was extraordinarily taken with the lad, and his judgment justified what the boy had said. “I shall not be afraid if you are with me.” “But I may not be with you. That’s the trouble. Supposing I should be caught, what would you do?” “Follow any orders you had given me before that time. If you had not given any, I would use my best judgment.” “I’ll give them now,” smiled Bucky. “If I’m lagged, make straight for Arizona and tell Webb Mackenzie or Val Collins.” “Then you _will_ take me?” cried the boy eagerly. “Only on condition that you obey orders explicitly. I’m running this cutting-out expedition.” “I wouldn’t think of disobeying.” “And I don’t want you to tell me any lies.” “No.” Bucky’s big brown fist caught the little one and squeezed it. “Then it’s a deal, kid. I only hope I’m doing right to take you.” “Of course you are. Haven’t you promised to make a man of me?” And again Bucky caught that note of stifled laughter in the voice, though the big brown eyes met his quite seriously. They took the train that night for El Paso, Bucky in the lower berth and his friend in the upper of section six of one of the Limited’s Pullman cars. The ranger was awake and up with the day. For a couple of hours he sat in the smoking section and discussed politics with a Chicago drummer. He knew that Frank was very tired, and he let him sleep till the diner was taken on at Lordsburg. Then he excused himself to the traveling man. “I reckon I better go and wake up my pardner. I see the chuck-wagon is toddling along behind us.” Bucky drew aside the curtains and shook the boy gently by the shoulder. Frank’s eyes opened and looked at the ranger with that lack of comprehension peculiar to one roused suddenly from deep sleep. “Time to get up, Curly. The nigger just gave the first call for the chuck-wagon.” An understanding of the situation flamed over the boy’s face. He snatched the curtains from the Arizonian and gathered them tightly together. “I’ll thank you not to be so familiar,” he said shortly from behind the closed curtains. “I beg your pahdon, your royal highness. I should have had myself announced and craved an audience, I reckon,” was Bucky’s ironic retort; and swiftly on the heels of it he added. “You make me tired, kid.”