Carolyn June leaned forward on the table listening with breathless interest.  The others stopped eating and gave all their attention to the story Bert was telling.

“Captain Jack saw him, stopped for just a second, sort of surprised, then went right at th’ Ramblin’ Kid—­head down, eyes blazin’ like coals, mouth wide open, ears laid back and strikin’ with both front feet—­”

“He was some wicked!” Charley ejaculated.

“He sure was,” Bert went on.  “Tony and Charley and me just set on our horses stunned—­thinkin’ th’ Kid had gone clean loco and was flirtin’ with certain and pronto death.  As Captain Jack rushed him th’ Ramblin’ Kid give a jump sideways, his rope went true, a quick run to the snubbin’ post and he throwed him dead!  The broncho hit his feet, give a squeal and come straight back!  Th’ Ramblin’ Kid run once more, yankin’ like blazes to get the slack!  That time when he went down—­well, before we realized it, th’ Ramblin’ Kid had him bridled and saddled and was safe on deck—­”

“I’m tellin’ you too, Captain Jack went higher than a kite when he felt the rowels in his flanks!” Charley interrupted.

“Th’ Ramblin’ Kid yelled for us to let him out,” Bert continued.  “Charley and me flung down the bars to the corral and Captain Jack come out sun-fishin’ and hittin’ the breeze like a streak of twisted lightning!  That was just before dinner in the forenoon.  That afternoon and night th’ Ramblin’ Kid rode the outlaw to the Hundred and One—­ninety miles away!  We didn’t see either of them any more for a month and when they hit the Kiowa again Captain Jack was a regular baby after th’ Ramblin’ Kid and would follow him around like a dog—­”

“That’s the way he’s been ever since,” Charley said, “them two are just like sweethearts.”

“Nobody else ever rides him—­” Bert added.

“They can’t,” Chuck said.  “He’s a one-man horse and th’ Ramblin’ Kid is the man.  Captain Jack would die for th’ Ramblin’ Kid!”

“Yes, and kill any one else if he could!” Parker exclaimed.

“Has no one but—­but the Ramblin’ Kid”—­Carolyn June hesitated queerly over the name—­“ever ridden him?”

“Never that we know of,” Bert said; “several have tried it—­the last one was a fellow from down on the Chickasaw.  Guess he was trying to steal him.  Anyway, we was all up at Eagle Butte and had left our horses out in front of the Occidental Hotel while we was in the dining-room eating our dinners.  We got outside just in time to see the stranger hit the ground and Captain Jack jump on him with all four feet doubled up in a bunch—­he’s buried in that little graveyard you might have noticed on the hill this side of the river bridge.”

“Killed him?” Carolyn June gasped.

“Seemed like it.”  Bert answered, with a grin; “anyway, we buried him.”

“What did the—­the Ramblin’ Kid do?” she asked.

“He just laughed kind of soft and scornful,” Skinny said, “and got on Captain Jack and rode away while we was picking the fellow up!”