all on their toes thet jest slipped off their throats when they
struck."

Ben slipped into his chair with a grunt.

"O' course, I didn't know thet when I was swimmin'," continued Bud, 'an'
I thinks I've run ercross a new web-footed breed o' hawgs. When we come
ter ther other side I waited fer them ter land, then I turns an' swims
back, ther hawgs follerin'. Back ercross I goes erg'in, an' ther pork
keeps right on my trail.

"Purty soon I see they ain't swimmin' so spry, an' I allow they're
gittin' some tired. Ther last time over ter our side o' ther river they
come slow, an' I picks out ther kind o' pork I likes best, an' ez they
land I nails what I want an' slits thar throats, an' I hev my pork. But
when ther rest o' them lands they's full o' fight ez ever, an' I takes
ter ther water ag'in, but they won't foller me. This seems strange, an'
I looks ter see what ther matter is.

"Ther ole boar wuz mighty smart, but he'd overlooked one p'int. He'd
fergot thet ther water would melt his balls o' clay, which it did, an'
they couldn't swim no more. I jest stood hip high in the water with my
Winchester an' popped erway at them until they got tired an' run off,
leavin' me enough fresh pork ter start a packin' house."

A hollow groan escaped from Ben.

"What's the use?" he moaned. "You can't beat him."

CHAPTER II.

BUD'S BAD BRONCHOS.

It was time for the fall round-up, and Stella had written from her
uncle's ranch, in New Mexico, that she and her aunt, Mrs. Graham, were
coming North to do their winter shopping in Denver, and would visit the
Moon Valley Ranch to take part in the round-up and the festivities which
the boys always held at that time.

Her letter did not say when she would be there, but the boys knew her
well enough to expect her at any moment following the letter.

Therefore they were not surprised to hear a clear, high imitation of the
Moon Valley yell one morning while they were all sitting at the
breakfast table.

They did not need to be told that Stella Fosdick had come, and without
ado they sprang from the table, overturning chairs in their haste to get
out of the house to greet her and her aunt.

"Hello, boys!" she called from the carriage, in which she and Mrs.
Graham had driven over from Soldier Butte. "You're a gallant lot of
young fellows not to meet us at the station, particularly when I wrote
you that I was coming this morning. I'm real mad." But her smiling face
belied the sta