“Yes, have Nick do that,” replied the lad’s father approvingly. Mr. Manley thought it best that his sons should assume responsibility early in life. Accordingly, he gave each one the practical management of the ranch on alternate weeks. This week Teddy had been the foreman. “Well, no use standin’ out in the hot sun,” Mr. Manley continued, with a glance at the fair skin of the two girls. He wondered how long it would be before a coat of tan covered those pink-and-white faces. “Roy, just cart the bags into the depot, will you? Some one coming out from the 8 X 8 for you, I take it?” and he looked over at Nell and Ethel. “We expect a car,” Ethel answered dubiously. “Although Uncle Peter may send horses--” and she glanced down at her traveling dress. “Now, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Manley said, with a hearty laugh. “We have autos out here, same as you have in New York. Pete’s got two of the finest cars in the state, though mostly he uses flivvers. You won’t have to fork no bronc--pardon me, I mean ride a horse.” Seizing the girls’ two bags, Roy carried them into the station while the others followed more slowly. Mr. Manley had but a small hand bag, and Teddy left this with the station agent to be brought over later on the wagon. When the ranch-owner traveled, he wanted to be ready to “light out in a hurry,” as he expressed it. Usually a clean shirt and some collars completed his traveling kit. Mr. Manley had lived in the West all his life, and had the Westerner’s contempt for “dofunnies,” as unnecessary equipment was called. “But once you get used to a horse,” Mr. Manley went on, as he walked toward the rear of the station, “you’ll never set foot inside an auto again,” he assured the girls. “Now, I have a horse I call General. Gentle, strong, and quick as a flash. Him, me, an’ this corncob pipe have been through plenty of rough places together in the last four years. Tell you, I wouldn’t trade General for ten of the best mustangs in the state!” and he nodded his head decidedly, so that little rings of smoke detached themselves from the bowl of the pipe and drifted gently away. “I’m sure we’ll just love it out here,” Ethel remarked enthusiastically. “Of course, we’ve both ridden in the city, but we always used much smaller saddles than you use here,” she commented as she saw a rider pause in front of Rimor’s Place. “Postage stamps!” Mr. Manley said, with a grin. “That’s what we call those saddles out West. The kind we ride are real saddles. Like the one I have on General, for instance. He wouldn’t know what to do if some one pasted one of those English saddles on his back.” By this time they had reached the corner of the station. Back of the freight station the three horses had been tied by Roy and Teddy. Mr. Manley was in the lead. He turned suddenly and faced Nell and Ethel.