So Banty tied up the horses, stowed the luggage away in the afterpart of the trap, and led the way to the trader's. When they started for the ranch, Con had, in addition to his English bags, boxes, shawl-straps and portmanteaus, a most beautiful outfit of typical Western finery, a handsome Mexican saddle, a crop, a quirt, fringed gauntlet gloves, chaps, Stetson hat, silk handkerchief, ties, and three pairs of sporting and riding boots. "We'll put these patent leathers gently into the river, or on a shelf, until I face the East again," he said, half apologetically. Then with a quick burst of English simplicity, he said: "Oh, Banty, I want to be one of you!" "And you're going to be one of us," said that sturdy young Westerner. "In fact, Con--well, you just _are_ one of us," he added. The lanky, pink-faced boy grew pinker. "I know I'm an awful length and all that," he said, "but I'm only sixteen, don't you know!" Banty grinned. The "Don't you know," which at first horrified him, was, oddly enough, growing to be almost fascinating. Banty would have felt himself an awful owl were he to say it, but it somehow suited the tall, pink boy, and did not sound one particle "dudish," or offensive, and during the ten-mile drive across the Kamloops Hills Banty decided that Con was a first-rate fellow, notwithstanding his abominable clothes and "swagger" English accent. At the ranch house door they were greeted by Banty's parents and a couple of range riders, and Eena, who, Indian-like, never revealed the fact by word or look that he had observed the patent leather shoes, and the wonderful high collar; who, also Indian-like, in spite of these drawbacks, liked the stranger without cause, a peculiar instinct of liking that came when the young King Georgeman shook hands with him, a wholesome British "shake" that engendered confidence. "You will be tired, Constantine," said Mrs. Clark, with motherly care, "and not accustomed to this extreme heat. Come at once and rest. I have made a great jug of lemonade. Do come in at once." "If it's all the same to you, aunt, may I have some tea? And do _please_ call me 'Con,'" he replied. No shadow of expression crossed The Eena's face, but when Mrs. Clark had led Con indoors, the Indian turned to Banty and remarked quietly, "You're right some ways; he wants tea, and the sun shines in his shoes, but he good King Georgeman all same, I know, me." "Guess you're right, Eena," said Banty. "There's something about him that's fine, just fine and simple and--English." The Indian nodded and he made but one more comment. "He brave," he muttered. "How do you know that?" asked Banty. "The--what you name it? I think you call it _nostril_ of his nose long, thin, fine. That shows brave people. When nostril just round and thick like bullet-hole it shows coward."