over a man because you know he can't get away. All right. Now, what do
you think of that?"

Curly planted a stinging slap against Ranse's left cheek. The print of
his hand stood out a dull red against the tan.

Ranse smiled happily.

The cowpunchers talk to this day of the battle that followed.

Somewhere in his restless tour of the cities Curly had acquired the
art of self-defence. The ranchman was equipped only with the splendid
strength and equilibrium of perfect health and the endurance conferred
by decent living. The two attributes nearly matched. There were no
formal rounds. At last the fibre of the clean liver prevailed. The
last time Curly went down from one of the ranchman's awkward but
powerful blows he remained on the grass, but looking up with an
unquenched eye.

Ranse went to the water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his
chin in the stream from the faucet.

On his face was a grin of satisfaction.

Much benefit might accrue to educators and moralists if they could
know the details of the curriculum of reclamation through which Ranse
put his waif during the month that he spent in the San Gabriel camp.
The ranchman had no fine theories to work out--perhaps his whole stock
of pedagogy embraced only a knowledge of horse-breaking and a belief
in heredity.

The cowpunchers saw that their boss was trying to make a man out of
the strange animal that he had sent among them; and they tacitly
organised themselves into a faculty of assistants. But their system
was their own.

Curly's first lesson stuck. He became on friendly and then on intimate
terms with soap and water. And the thing that pleased Ranse most was
that his "subject" held his ground at each successive higher step. But
the steps were sometimes far apart.

Once he got at the quart bottle of whisky kept sacredly in the grub
tent for rattlesnake bites, and spent sixteen hours on the grass,
magnificently drunk. But when he staggered to his feet his first move
was to find his soap and towel and start for the _charco_. And once,
when a treat came from the ranch in the form of a basket of fresh
tomatoes and young onions, Curly devoured the entire consignment
before the punchers reached the camp at supper time.

And then the punchers punished him in their own way. For three days
they did not speak to him, except to reply to his own questions or
remarks. And they spoke with absolute and unfailing politeness. They
played tricks on one another;