I got Jimmie--we come to call him that on the ranch--so he could rope some inside his first year, though I had to show him how to spread his loop a little wide and not to depend on soaping his hondoo. It was like old times to see a kid beginning on the range in the one man's game that's worth while on earth--raising cows in a good cow country. I was glad I hadn't shot Jimmie, or my boss hadn't shot his pa--I wouldn't of minded so about Old Lady Wisner, because I couldn't help remembering how she'd made trouble deliberate from the first. Of course I'd made trouble, too, but I hadn't went to. What become of the old wall between them two houses? Nothing much; we left it stand, for someways it didn't seem so high no more when Bonnie Bell's ivy and them other plants begun to hang down on it. But, of course, I had to bust the hole in a little bit bigger after a while, so as the twins could get through right easy, as well as Peanut. One was named David Abraham and the other John William; but they couldn't help it. The best time was when we all rounded up one spring out there at the station to go out on the ranch for the spring round-up, and to start things running for the year. Old Man Wisner and the old lady was there, and Old Man Wright and Jimmie and Bonnie Bell and me--me that was foreman now and, like enough, earning it, the way things had been let go to pieces. We'd come down from Cody to that station where I found Jimmie--time I was out hunting for him. For a while we'd been quite considerable busy getting things packed, ready to go out to the ranch. We had two wagons, one full of groceries and things. They'd even put in fly screens out there now and had rocking chairs to set around in. Old Man Wright was as busy as a fiddler getting things pulled together. His sleeves was rolled up, and all at once Jimmie looks at him and says: "Colonel, if I'm not mistaken your freckles is coming back again." The old man roars laughing at that. "Yes," he says; "I'm almost fit to run for sher'f oncet more. Ain't it all like the old times, Curly?" says he. "It shore is, Colonel," says I; "and there ain't no better times than them." The old man he gets into the buckboard on one side and he taken the two twins on his knees. On the seat back of him was Pa and Ma Wisner--me riding with Old Man Wright, in the middle. She was a three-seat buckboard, and the mules was full of oats and plunging some; but Jimmie didn't mind--he was driving, with Bonnie Bell, on the front seat. "All set?" says he, turning his head around; and Old Man Wright nods. "Giddap!" says Jimmie, and turns 'em loose. Bonnie Bell, she turns around halfway, half looking at him and half at the twins, and says she: "Home, James!"