"What'd you do?" gasped Banty.
"Licked him in full view of the whole school, and he was a senior; trimmed him till he couldn't see," was the smiling reply.
"Good boy!" almost shouted Banty. "You're the stuff for out West. I'm glad you came."
"I'm glad, too," answered his cousin, "but I'll be 'gladder' if you will tell me where I can get some togs like yours. I declare, but I like that outfit," and he looked enviously at Banty's leather chaps, blue flannel shirt, scarlet silk neckerchief and cowboy hat.
"These duds?" questioned Banty. "Oh, you can get them anywhere. They'd hardly suit you, though." And he measured the stranger with a critical eye.
"Suit or not, I'm going to have them," said "Con"—as his genial father called him. "Let's go right to the shops and get an outfit now."
So Banty tied up the horses, stowed the luggage away in the afterpart of the trap, and led the way to the trader's.
When they started for the ranch, Con had, in addition to his English bags, boxes, shawl-straps and portmanteaus, a most beautiful outfit of typical Western finery, a handsome Mexican saddle, a crop, a quirt, fringed gauntlet gloves, chaps, Stetson hat, silk handkerchief, ties, and three pairs of sporting and riding boots.
"We'll put these patent leathers gently into the river, or on a shelf, until I face the East again," he said, half apologetically. Then with a quick burst of English simplicity, he said: "Oh, Banty, I want to be one of you!"
"And you're going to be one of us," said that sturdy young Westerner.
"In fact, Con—well, you just are one of us," he added.