Yet Roy was a real boy. More, he was a real Western boy, which is saying a great deal. He was one of the best shots on the X Bar X ranch, and although Teddy had a slight edge on him when it came to riding, Roy could “fork” an unbroken bronco almost as well as any man on the ranch. In build the boys were much alike--lean, wiry products of range life. Their father, Bardwell Manley, owned the X Bar X, a cattle ranch some thirty hours’ ride “on the cars” west from Chicago on Rocky Run River, a small stream. This ranch had been in the Manley family since Temple Manley, the boys’ grandfather, now several years dead, had settled there in 1868. Roy and Teddy, together with their sister, Belle Ada, a girl now twelve years old, had, of course, lived much of their lives on the X Bar X. But as soon as they became old enough Mrs. Manley had insisted that the two brothers go away to study in Denver, and the last three winters Roy and Teddy had spent at the Hopper Academy. Although their school days were happy enough, both boys were always eager for summer to come, bringing with it vacation time, which meant the ranch, with Flash and Star to gallop about on over many a winding trail. Roy and Teddy had the real cowboy’s love for a good pony and the wind-swept range. Though they did as well as most boys at their studies and Roy rather better than the average, they were both eager for the time to come when they could leave school and follow in the footsteps of their father. It was now the third week since school had closed, and today the boys were riding to Eagles, a railroad station twelve miles from the X Bar X, to meet Mr. Manley, who had stipulated that they must bring his own special mount, General, for him to ride back. Of course they could have made the trip in an auto, but Mr. Manley always said he preferred “hoss flesh to flivvers.” “Shucks! I don’t see the use of having an auto trail to Eagles when dad rides General all the time,” Teddy half grumbled as he sank his chin deeper into his neckerchief. “This is too blame dusty!” In the memory of some at the X Bar X, there had been a time when this road, winding up the mountain, had been just a trail, hardly wide enough for two horses abreast. But the auto had since invaded the West, and had widened the path into a dusty highway. In the opinion of Roy and Teddy Manley, it was a change for the worse. “Stop beefing,” challenged Roy, grinning. “Here! Take a look at that and be thankful you’re allowed to live in the country!” The two boys had come to a turn in the road almost at the top of the mountain. The horses stood, champing their bits, on a small plateau. The road wound itself about the elevation on either side, stretching out like a long, brown ribbon. To the left, where the highway made its sharpest curve, was a small slope, and beyond this the mountain seemed to have been shorn off with a giant axe, making a sheer drop of some three hundred feet.