“That’s all right, Shorty,” said Jack heartily, “and I’m as sorry as you are. I didn’t mean to give you such a bump.” Shorty took the outstretched hand with limp fingers, barely touched it, and then, remounting his pony, which had been led up, rode off to the rear of his comrades. His face was contorted with humiliation and angry shame. “I hope you won’t judge the Rangers by that fellow,” said Captain Atkinson to Jack when Shorty had gone; “we may appear rough but our hearts are in the right place, as I hope we shall prove to you.” “I’m sure of it,” rejoined Jack heartily. “Are we going to camp far from the town?” he asked, by way of changing the subject. “Yes, in the outskirts, on the banks of the river. Alameda and his men are giving the Federal troops a hard tussle, and we want to be on the job if they try to cross.” “Then you won’t be in one place?” Captain Atkinson laughed. “No; we Rangers are supposed to be like the Irish bird that flew in two places at the same time,” he said. Then, in a more serious tone, he went on: “We have twenty–five miles of the Rio Grande to patrol and see that the life and property of Americans along the Border are protected. It is also our duty to keep the revolutionists or Federals from getting into American territory or receiving supplies.” “We had some experience in that line when we were in Northern Chihuahua,” responded Jack. “So I have heard. That is one reason I consented to have you along. Raw tenderfoots would be out of place on a job of this kind. But now we must be pushing on. I want to get into camp and map out my plan of campaign before night.” In a few minutes the column was reformed, and the Rangers, at an easy pace, were riding out of the town toward the river. The three boys rode together. “Well, Jack,” remarked Ralph Stetson, as soon as they found themselves alone, “you’ve made a nice mess of it.” “How’s that?” inquired Jack unsuspiciously. “Getting in a muss with that Ranger. From the look he gave you as he went away I could see he bore you no great affection.” “Well, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it,” declared Jack. “I should think not,” chimed in Walt Phelps, “you only did what you were compelled to do. My dad says, ‘Don’t go looking for trouble and always avoid it if you can; but if you have it forced on you, why then make the other fellow remember it.’” “Don’t worry about that Shorty not remembering it,” admonished Ralph seriously; “he’s not of the forgetting kind.” And Ralph was right—Shorty wasn’t, as we shall see before long. CHAPTER III. AN ATTEMPT AT “GETTING EVEN.”