“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.”