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 Gabriel camp cursing talentedly when Ranse Truesdell rode up and dismounted on the next afternoon. The cowpunchers were ignoring the stray. He was grimy with dust and black dirt. His clothes were making their last stand in favour of the conventions.

Ranse went up to Buck Rabb, the camp boss, and spoke briefly.

“He’s a plumb buzzard,” said Buck. “He won’t work, and he’s the low-downest passel of inhumanity I ever see. I didn’t know what you wanted done with him, Ranse, so I just let him set. That seems to suit him. He’s been condemned to death by the boys a dozen times, but I told ’em maybe you was savin’ him for torture.”

Ranse took off his coat.

“I’ve got a hard job before me, Buck, I reckon, but it has to be done. I’ve got to make a man out of that thing. That’s what I’ve come to camp for.”

He went up to Curly.

“Brother,” he said, “don’t you think if you had a bath it would allow you to take a seat in the company of your fellow-man with less injustice to the atmosphere.”

“Run away, farmer,” said Curly, sardonically. “Willie will send for nursey when he feels like having his tub.”

The charco, or water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of Curly’s ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink. Then with the