“So,” he snapped, “that’s the sort of fellow you are. Well, all I’ve got to say is that you and your kind are a disgrace to the name of Texas. I’ve warned you before, Shorty, of what you might expect if you got into disgrace again. That was the last time. Now I find you bullyin’ a kid who hadn’t done you any harm, and when he gave you what you deserved you tried to shoot him. I’ve only got one thing to say to you————” He paused. There was a vibrant silence, during which the trampling of the restless ponies’ hoofs and the hard breathing of Shorty were the only sounds to break the stillness. “Git!” The order came like the crack of a rifle. Shorty seemed to wither and grow smaller and darker as he heard. “Captain, I————” he stammered out. But Atkinson cut him short abruptly. “You heard me. Git! This isn’t a cow camp, but a regularly organized troop to enforce law and order. You set a fine example of lawlessness right in the town we have been sent to protect from that very thing. There’s your pony and here’s the pay that’s coming to you. Hit the trail, and hit it quick.” “Don’t be too hard on him, captain. Give him one more chance. I guess it was only meant as horse play and not viciousness.” Captain Atkinson turned his bronzed countenance on the speaker. It was Jack. Beside him Walt Phelps had reined up and Ralph Stetson, too, the latter having been attracted by the excitement from the side street where he had sought refuge at the boisterous entrance of the Rangers. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said. “Well, young chap, you’ve got nerve and sense; but this fellow doesn’t deserve any pity.” “I’m sure he won’t do it again,” Jack assured the captain; “let him off this time. He’s been punished enough.” At this Captain Atkinson could not resist a smile. Shorty’s woebegone appearance assuredly bore testimony to the truth of Jack’s statement. As for the Rangers, some of them broke into an open guffaw of amusement. “You’re sure right, young chap,” agreed Captain Atkinson, “but right now I’d like to ask you who you and your two friends are. You don’t look as if you belonged about here.” “We don’t. My name is Jack Merrill, this is Walt Phelps and yonder is Ralph Stetson, a school chum and————” “Waal, by the Lone Star! So you’re the kids I’m to take along, eh? Shake, boy, shake! I thought you were a lot of blithering tenderfeet, but you’re regular punchers. Put it there, Jack. I’m Captain Atkinson, your father’s friend, and————” “I guessed as much,” smiled Jack, shaking hands with the grizzled leader of the Rangers who, in turn, almost wrung the lad’s fingers off. “It’s for the sake of your friendship, captain, that I ask you to give this man another chance.” “Boy, you’re a real sport. Shorty, apologize to this lad here and take your place in the ranks.” “I—I’m sorry,” muttered Shorty, hanging his head sullenly and forcing the words from unwilling lips.