“Roy!”
The pallid lips moved. The eyes opened.
“Teddy, old boy—all right, Teddy—let’s get—”
A great sob forced the breath from Teddy’s lungs.
“Roy! Thank God! Oh, Roy, I was afraid—”
“Not this time, old boy! Still kicking. Only I feel—funny.”
“Now, Roy, let go the bridle. That’s it! All right, kid. Here we go. Don’t move. I have you. Don’t shake your head. Easy, kid—easy! Let yourself slide. A-a-a-atta baby! Here we go, now. Star’s all right. He’s just watching you, that’s all. I have you, kid. Easy, big feller—just a little—”
They were out into the stream. Holding his brother with one hand, Teddy pulled on the rope with the other. Flash braced his feet and stood firm. The current drew them down hungrily, but Teddy fought toward the shore. Closer, closer—he felt the rocks under his feet—and then Roy was laid gently on the ground and Teddy was bending over him, the tears coursing unashamed down his cheeks. Roy was safe.
It might be wise for the moment to leave these two alone. We won’t hear the first words that Roy said to Teddy, nor shall we hear Teddy’s answer. We sha’n’t watch Teddy’s hand meet his brother’s in a firm grip, nor shall we see the look that passed between the boys. It is better to leave the curtain drawn.
We may, instead, say something of these two who have just gone through such a vivid experience. Teddy, one year younger than his brother, was in his sixteenth year. His life had been spent mainly on the plains, as had Roy’s. Their father, Bardwell Manley, was the owner of a large cattle ranch, the X Bar X, and when he took his sons out of school to help him with the management of it, they were anything but sorry. They were born to the life of the cattle rancher and loved it. On the plains they were receiving a better education than many who attend college.