At this Captain Atkinson could not resist a smile. Shorty’s woebegone appearance assuredly bore testimony to the truth of Jack’s statement.
As for the Rangers, some of them broke into an open guffaw of amusement.
“You’re sure right, young chap,” agreed Captain Atkinson, “but right now I’d like to ask you who you and your two friends are. You don’t look as if you belonged about here.”
“We don’t. My name is Jack Merrill, this is Walt Phelps and yonder is Ralph Stetson, a school chum and————”
“Waal, by the Lone Star! So you’re the kids I’m to take along, eh? Shake, boy, shake! I thought you were a lot of blithering tenderfeet, but you’re regular punchers. Put it there, Jack. I’m Captain Atkinson, your father’s friend, and————”
“I guessed as much,” smiled Jack, shaking hands with the grizzled leader of the Rangers who, in turn, almost wrung the lad’s fingers off. “It’s for the sake of your friendship, captain, that I ask you to give this man another chance.”
“Boy, you’re a real sport. Shorty, apologize to this lad here and take your place in the ranks.”
“I—I’m sorry,” muttered Shorty, hanging his head sullenly and forcing the words from unwilling lips.
“That’s all right, Shorty,” said Jack heartily, “and I’m as sorry as you are. I didn’t mean to give you such a bump.”