tty Baker, his wife, and little daughter,
be heard in the land.

Early in his career, Scotty began to cultivate the impassive Rankin. He
fairly bombarded the big rancher with courtesies and invitations. No
holiday (and Scotty was an assiduous observer of holidays) was complete
unless Rankin was present to help celebrate. No improvement about the
ranch was definitely undertaken until Rankin had expressed a favorable
opinion concerning the project. Gradually, so gradually that the big man
himself did not realize the change, he fell under Scotty's influence,
and more and more frequently he was to be found headed toward the cosey
Baker cottage. Now, for a year or more, scarcely a Sunday had passed
without one or the other of the men finding it possible to traverse the
thirty miles intervening between them, to spend a few hours in each
other's company.

It was in pursuance of this laudable intention that on the second
morning following Ben Blair's adoption into the Box R Ranch--a
Sunday--the Englishman hitched a team of his best blooded trotters to
the antiquated phaeton, which was the only vehicle he possessed, and
started across country at a lively clip. Thus it came to pass that about
two hours later, having tied his team at the barn and started for the
ranch-house, the visitor saw squarely in his path upon the sunny south
doorstep an object that made him pause and blink his near-sighted eyes.
Under the concentration of his vision, the object resolved itself into a
small boy perched like a frog upon a rock, his fingers locked across his
shins, his chin upon his knees. For an instant the Englishman
hesitated. Courtesy was instinctive with him.

"Can you tell me whether Mr. Rankin is at home?" he asked.

The lad calmly disentangled himself and stood up.

"You mean the big man, sir?"

Again Scotty was guilty of a breach of etiquette. He stared.

"Certainly," he replied at last.

Ben Blair stepped out of the way.

"Yes, sir, he is."

Within the ranch-house Scotty dropped into the nearest chair.

"Tell me, Rankin," he began, "who is the new-comer, and where did you
get him?" A long leg swung comfortably over its mate. "And, by the way,
while you're about it, is he six or sixty? By Jove, I couldn't tell!"

The host looked at his visitor quizzically.

"Ben, I suppose you mean?"

"Ben, or _Tom_, I don't know. I mean the gentleman on the front steps,
the one who didn't know your name," and the Englishman related t