"Better him than you," murmured Mr. Carson. "Are you sure you're all right, Dave, my boy?" he asked anxiously. "Oh, yes I'm a bit shaken up, but I'll be all right. I can go on with the round-up." "You can--but you'll not!" was the ranch owner's decision. "I want you to take a little rest. The worst of the job's over, anyhow." Dave was nothing loath to have a little respite, and as he came up to the chuck wagon, where Mr. Bellmore was eagerly waiting for him, the Chicago man said: "Well, I never expected to see you come up this way, Dave," and he held out a welcoming hand. "Oh, we get used to little things like that." "Little things!" exclaimed the irrigation engineer. "Well, I thought I had a hard time when I was hanging over that gully. But that wasn't a circumstance to yours." "It's all in the day's work," said Dave with a shrug of his shoulders, as he sank down on a pile of sacks. "He's grit clear through," thought the visitor. "I like him more every day I see him." As for Dave, in addition to the thankfulness in his heart that he was not hurt, and that his favorite pony had escaped, was a deep sense of gratitude for the manner manifested toward him by Mr. Carson. No father could have showed more love toward his own son than the ranch owner did toward his ward, his nameless ward. The excitement caused by Dave's fall soon passed, for, after all, such things are comparatively common on the ranch, and he had really been more than usually fortunate. And so the work of the round-up went on, day after day. Hard, hot, sweaty and dusty work it was, too, with little of the romance that attaches to the book stories of life on a cattle range. But no one complained, least of all Dave Carson. It was about a week after this that Dave was sent out again to look up some stray cattle. He was not riding his own pony Crow, who had, after all, developed a lame shoulder from his fall. So he was left in the stable for a day or two. As the animal Dave had was rather strange he took the precaution of staking him out as he halted for a bite to eat at noon. Dave was taking his nooning, resting lazily on the silent plain, when he heard a noise that caused him to rouse up suddenly. What he saw brought an exclamation of anger to his lips, for in the act of cutting the rope that held the somewhat restive pony was Len Molick. Dave had caught him in the nick of time. Len had looked around, to make sure he was unobserved, but his back was toward our hero, who was down in a little hollow. "The sneak!" murmured Dave. Then, silently, he began stalking the bully, who was preparing to go back to his own horse, that was standing with reins over its head. Len's object was plain. He wanted to let Dave's pony run back to the ranch, so our hero would have a long walk. But his plan failed. Just as Len was about to sever the lariat Dave sprang up, and with a yell that startled both horses, fairly threw himself on the back of the bully.