But, while the work assigned to Patches during those first days of his stay on the Cross-Triangle was chiefly those odd jobs which called for little or no experience, his higher education was by no means neglected.  A wise and gentle old cow-horse was assigned to him, and the Dean taught him the various parts of his equipment, their proper use, and how to care for them.  And every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes late in the afternoon, the master found some errand or business that would necessitate his pupil riding with him.  When Phil or Mrs. Baldwin would inquire about the Dean’s kindergarten, as they called it, the Dean would laugh with them, but always he would say stoutly, “Just you wait.  He’ll be as near ready for the rodeo this fall as them pupils in that kindergarten of Phil’s.  He takes to ridin’ like the good Lord had made him specially for that particular job.  He’s just a natural-born horseman, or I don’t know men.  He’s got the sense, he’s got the nerve, an’ he’s got the disposition.  He’s goin’ to make a top hand in a few months, if”—­he always added with twinkling eyes—­“he don’t get himself killed tryin’ some fool experiment on himself.”

“I notice just the same that he always has plenty of help in his experimentin’,” Mrs. Baldwin would return dryly, which saying indicted not only the Dean but Phil and every man on the Cross-Triangle, including Little Billy.

Then came that day when Patches was given a task that—­the Dean assured him—­is one of the duties of even the oldest and best qualified cowboys.  Patches was assigned to the work of fenceriding.  But when the Dean rode out with his pupil early that morning to where the drift fence begins at the corner of the big pasture, and explained that “riding a fence” meant, in ranch language, looking for breaks and repairing any such when found, he did not explain the peculiarities of that particular kind of fence.

“I told him to be sure and be back by night,” he chuckled, as he explained Patches’ absence at dinner to the other members of the household.

“That was downright mean of you, Will Baldwin,” chided Stella, with her usual motherly interest in the comfort of her boys.  “You know the poor fellow will lose himself, sure, out in that wild Tailholt Mountain country.”

The boys laughed.

“We’ll find him in the morning, all right, mother,” reassured Phil.

“He can follow the fence back, can’t he?” retorted the Dean.  “Or, as far as that goes, old Snip will bring him home.”

“If he knows enough to figger it out, or to let Snip have his head,” said Curly.

“At any rate,” the Dean maintained, “he’ll learn somethin’ about the country, an’ he’ll learn somethin’ about fences, an’ mebby he’ll learn somethin’ about horses.  An’ we’ll see whether he can use his own head or not.  There’s nothin’ like givin’ a man a chance to find out things for himself sometimes.  Besides, think what a chance he’ll have for some of his experiments!  I’ll bet a yearling steer that when we do see him again, he’ll be tickled to death at himself an’ wonderin’ how he had the nerve to do it.”