rs in the eye to let any mere man
disturb his poise.

"Do you spell _scoundrel_ with a _k_?" the Ranger chief fired abruptly
at him.

"Nary a _k_, Captain. I spell it _b-a-d m-a-n_."

"H'mp!" snorted the little man. "Ain't you got no education? A man's got
to use a syllogism oncet in a while, I reckon."

"Mebbeso. What kind of a gun is it?" drawled Jack Roberts.

"A syllogism is a word meanin' the same as another word, like as if I
was to say _caballo_ for _horse_ or _six-shooter_ for _revolver_."

"I see--or _tough guy_ for _Texas ranger_."

"Or _durn fool_ for _Jack Roberts_," countered Ellison promptly.

"Now you're shoutin', Cap. Stomp on me proper. I certainly need to be
curried."

Again the Ranger snorted. "H'mp! Been scarin' any more young ladies to
death?"

"No more this mo'nin', Captain," answered Jack equably.

"Nor grandstandin' with any more _ladino_ steers?"

"I exhibit only once a day."

"By dog, you give a sure-enough good show," exploded Ellison. "You got
yore nerve, boy. Wait around till the prettiest girl in Texas can see
you pull off the big play--run the risk of havin' her trampled to death,
just so's you can grin an' say, 'Pleased to meet you, ma'am.' When I
call you durn fool, I realize it's too weak a name."

"Hop to it, Captain. Use up some real language on me. Spill out a lot of
those syllogisms you got bottled up inside you. I got it comin',"
admitted Roberts genially as he rolled a cigarette.

The Captain had been a mule-skinner once, and for five glorious minutes
he did himself proud while the graceless young cowpuncher beamed on
him.

"You sure go some, Cap," applauded the young fellow. "I'd admire to have
your flow of talk."

Ellison subsided into anticlimax. "Well, don't you ever drive yore wild
hill-critters through town again. Hear me, young fellow?"

"You'll have to speak to Wadley about that. I'm not his trail boss any
longer."

"Since when?"

"Since five o'clock yesterday evenin'. I was turnin' over the herd this
mo'nin' when the little lady showed up an' I had to pull off the
bulldoggin'."

"Wadley fire you?"

"That's whatever."

"Why?"

"Didn't like the way I mussed up son Rutherford, I kind o' gathered."

"Another of yore fool plays. First you beat up Wadley's boy; then you
'most massacree his daughter. Anything more?"

"That's all up to date--except that the old man hinted I was a
brand-burner."

"The deuce he did!"

"I judge that son Ruther