About forty miles distant from Fort Scott, in a quiet valley surrounded on all sides by stately hills, the ranch of Mr. Preston was located. The valley was fifty miles long and half as wide, and the owner had no difficulty in protecting his stock during the winter storms which now and then spread over the valley, accompanied by a driving snow that effectually shut the cowboys off from all contact with the outside world. A river flowed through within a hundred yards or so of the house, and on the wild fowl that frequented its banks during the fall and winter Carl Preston had received his first instruction in wing-shooting. Game of nearly all kinds was abundant, and it was no trouble at all for the ranchmen who wanted a haunch of venison to shoot a deer when they came to the river for water. It was a quiet, happy home, and Carl never would have thought of leaving it had his father been spared to him.

The house was a rambling structure, built of rough boards, dismal-looking enough on the outside, but in the interior it was fitted up as any boy would care to have it. A porch ran the full length of the front of the house, and one day in the month of June Carl Preston sat on it, deeply interested in some work the foreman was doing upon his saddle. Carl was at that time seventeen years of age, and, to quote from the herdsmen, with whom he was an especial favorite, he was “as likely a boy as ever stood up.” But there was one objection to Carl, and that was, he never would study his books. According to Colonel Dodge, he found more excitement in horses and guns than he did in anything else. He tried hard to master a lesson that his father gave him, but just as surely as anything happened outside, he would go out to see what the matter was. Did any of the cattle become alarmed and threaten a stampede, Carl wanted to be sure that the cowboy got ahead of them and kept them from going out at the entrance of the valley onto the prairie; or, if a horseman was selected that morning at breakfast to break in a bronco, Carl would happen on the porch about the time he got ready to begin, and see that the horse did not do the cowboy any damage. At last his father became disheartened, put away the books, and began work on Carl’s education himself. He took him into the field with him every time he went, all the while discoursing upon some subject in which he hoped Carl would be interested, and in this way the boy learned much that he could not have got out of books.

“So you think you won’t be lonely any more after your cousin comes?” said the foreman, stopping to pound down a waxed end with his hammer. “Well, I hope you will like him, but I am afraid you won’t.”

Mr. Preston had left home three days before to go to Standing Rock Agency for the purpose of meeting this cousin, and he had purposely left Carl at home till he could see what manner of boy it was that he was going to meet.

This boy Claude was the only son of Mr. Preston’s brother, who lived in St. Louis. During his father’s lifetime, for Claude was now an orphan, Mr. Preston often had calls for money and assistance, until he began to believe that really his brother did not amount to much. He got him situations, only to have the man throw them up at last. To his brother’s inquiry as to why he had done so he always replied that it was something to which he was not adapted, and begged for something easier. Now the man was dead and Claude was left alone. He wrote to Mr. Preston, and, telling of the death of his father, asked him what he should do.

“Now is the time for him to make good his boasts that he is going to set me up in business,” said Claude to himself. “Ten to one he will write me to go out there, and that is one thing that I don’t want to do. But then he has money, and I will see what I can do with him after I get out there. I will promise him that if he will give me five thousand dollars I will never bother him again.”

One thing that made Claude so free with his uncle’s money was the conversations he had often had with his father. He had heard that all Western men were reckless with their gains, and he thought perhaps Mr. Preston would be equally so. What were five thousand dollars to him? He could easily get it out of the first cattle he sold. But now his worst fears came to him. Mr. Preston, after holding a consultation with his foreman—educated man as he was, he needed somebody to go to—wrote to Claude, and sent him money to come to Standing Rock Agency. After he got there he would still have a hundred and sixty miles to ride, and, for fear that he might not be able to stand the journey on horseback, Mr. Preston would meet him there with a wagon. Claude did not like the prospect of going out there so far from everybody, but still he packed up his trunk and went, and he found his uncle ready to receive him. Carl, as we said, had been left at home, because his father was anxious to see what sort of a boy—or man, rather, for Claude was nearly seven years older than Carl—he had been so willing to receive into his house.

“I hope you will like him, but I am afraid you won’t,” repeated the foreman. “A man who has lived all his life in a big city ain’t agoing to be contented out here.”

“Oh, I hope he will,” said Carl, somewhat disappointed at the foreman’s view of the matter. “I will give him up everything I’ve got if he will only stay here with me. There are plenty of horses for him to ride, there is a boat on the river, and——”

“That may all be,” said the cowboy, “but when he is in the city he has more than that. Where are the theatres for him to go to, and the balls and sleigh-rides?”

“Why, Claude has not been to any of those things,” said Carl in surprise. “You must remember that his father was poor.”

“Supposing he was. What has this man been doing during all these years? If he had a position when his father died, what was the reason he did not keep it?”

“Blessed if I know,” said Carl, who began to have a faint idea of the way the matter stood.

“I’ll tell you just what’s the matter with Claude,” said the cowboy, getting upon his feet. “He did not have a thing to do when his father was alive; he stayed at home or bummed around some place waiting for his father to give him money; and now, when his father’s left him, he’s afloat and does not know what to do. I tell you, he has come to a bad place. If he waits for your father to give him money he will wait for a long while.”

“You are prejudiced, and I hope that you are mistaken. However, he will soon be here, and I want you to meet him as civilly as you can.”

“Oh, I will do that,” said the cowboy. “He is coming here as your guest, and of course I will take off my hat to him. But I will tell you one thing, and that ain’t two,” he added mentally, as he shouldered his saddle and walked toward the corral with it: “I believe that a fellow who will stand around with his hands in his pockets, while his father is so poor that he doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from, is not a man who will do to run with you. I shall keep an eye on him.”

This made it plain that Mr. Preston had talked rather freely with his foreman before he started for Standing Rock Agency, and that the latter’s suspicions had been aroused. The cowboy was loyal to the family, and anything that interfered with them was sure to raise his ire. Carl did not know what to think when he went away and left him sitting there on the porch. Ever since his father went away he had been impatient for his return, for he wanted to see his cousin, and had promised himself that he would try by every means in his power to make his stay under their roof agreeable.

“Thompson is mistaken—I know he is, or father would not have received him under our roof,” muttered Carl, as he turned himself around on the porch and gazed toward the entrance of the valley. “At any rate, I shall not fall in with him until I see Claude and judge him for myself.”

This much was settled, and Carl forthwith dismissed all thoughts of his cousin from his mind. His father had promised to be at home on the afternoon of that day, and then the matter could be determined to his satisfaction. His pony came up and thrust his nose into his hand, and Carl suddenly thought of something.

“I believe I will not wait for them to get home,” said he, going to the end of the porch where were hung the saddle and bridle which he used in riding. “I will go down to the gap and meet them.”

The pony—he was always called the pony, and nothing else—did not raise any objection to being saddled and bridled. He was as gentle with Carl as a dog, although if anybody else came near him he was apt to be dangerous. This was the pony that Carl rode when he got his name. He came home on a leave of absence and told his father of it, and the consequence was Carl was not allowed to go back.

“I tell you those fellows have gone too far in naming my boy,” said Mr. Preston in astonishment. “Have you ever been in that country before?”

“Not quite so far down,” answered Carl, who almost wished that he had said nothing about it. “I have been down pretty near to Fort Belknap with Mason, carrying dispatches, and that is as far as I have been.”

“Do you know what those Indians would have done to you if they had captured you?”

“Yes, sir; but I didn’t intend to be captured.”

“Yes? Well, you don’t go back to the fort any more; and if Mason comes up here I will tell him what I think of him.”

Carl smiled as he put the saddle on his pony and the conversation he had had with his father came vividly to his mind; but, being an obedient boy, he had stayed at home after that, and listened to the stories the scouts told, although he had no hand in them himself. Some day he hoped to gain his father’s consent to take part in them; but until that consent was gained he would remain there on the ranch, acting as cowboy.

Without taking any weapons with him Carl mounted his pony and set off at a gallop, followed by his pointers, which went with him everywhere. It was three miles to “the gap,” as he called it, which gave access to the valley from the prairie, and he rode the entire distance without seeing anybody. The cattle were all up at the farthest end of the range, and had no business on that side of the house unless they were stampeded. As he drew rein, however, and cast his eyes down the road, he saw a dim object at the farther end which appeared to be coming toward him. A second look started him down the road again, and a brisk gallop of a mile or more showed him that it was his father’s team.

“Now I will soon find out whether or not Thompson is mistaken,” said Carl to himself. “There are two of them on the front seat, and one of them is a stranger. It must be Claude.”

Filled with curiosity, Carl kept his pony on a lope until he obtained a nearer view of the man who was a stranger to him. The result satisfied him and his countenance fell. Claude was neatly dressed as far as his outward appearance went, and his gloved hands, which lay before him, were as dainty as a woman’s; but there was something in his face that was not attractive. It had a hard look, a dissipated look such as Carl had never seen before, although he well knew what it meant.

“Halloo! Carl,” said his father, who was somewhat surprised at the boy’s silence. “How is everything?”

“Father,” exclaimed Carl, extending his hand to his sire, “I am glad to see you back again safe and sound. And this is my cousin,” he added, riding around the wagon so that he could shake hands with Claude. “How do you do, sir? I suppose you thought you were never going to get here, didn’t you?”

“Oh, no,” said Claude with a smile. “I knew uncle would not run me off into the mountains and lose me.”

While he spoke the young men had been making a mental estimate of each other. Carl judged something of his cousin by the grasp of his hand. He did not put any life into it; it was as limp as a piece of wet rope. Claude judged of Carl the same way, and both of them came pretty near the mark.

“Drat the boy, he has the grasp of a young blacksmith,” said Claude, noticing the glove on his hand, which Carl had considerably mussed during his greeting. “And this is the kind of fellow I am to be associated with all my life! I’ll bet the boy doesn’t know putty. I have seen enough of uncle’s life. I am going to get away from here as soon as I can.”