“He’s the independentest darn’ cuss I ever saw!” Charley remarked to his companions as the Ramblin’ Kid disappeared.  “It’s a wonder Old Heck don’t fire him.”

“He can’t,” Bert laughed.  “Th’ Ramblin’ Kid don’t stay at the Quarter Circle KT by the grace of Old Heck, but by the choice of th’ Ramblin’ Kid!  Anyhow, he’s too good with horses—­” His voice trailed away to a low mutter as they turned in among the willows and cottonwood trees along the bank of the Cimarron.

At the upper crossing on almost the same spot where he had lifted Carolyn June from the quicksand to the solid ground of the meadow land, the Ramblin’ Kid stopped Captain Jack.  He looked out over the placid, unbroken surface of the sand-bar and saw the end of the broken rope coiled loosely where Old Blue had been drawn under.  A few yards away the white felt hat Carolyn June had tossed to one side, to be a mute and pathetic messenger of her fate, when she thought death was certain, still rested on the smooth surface of the sand.  It was to get the hat the Ramblin’ Kid had come again to the scene of yesterday’s tragedy.  He had seen it lying there when Carolyn June and he rode away on Captain Jack and thought then of trying to get it, but the part of the broken rope attached to his saddle was too short to reach it and it was impossible to secure it in any other way.  Chuck had returned the Ramblin’ Kid’s rope to him yesterday when they were after the runaway steers and it was now on his saddle.  He lightly tossed the noose so that it fell circling the object he sought.  Gently flicking the rope toward him he tightened the loop about the crown of the hat and drew it to the edge of the quicksand.  He picked up the hat, looked curiously at it, remounted Captain Jack, paused a moment and gazed at the treacherous surface beneath which the body of Old Blue was hidden and with a savagely muttered something about “th’ damned stuff!” whirled the little stallion and rode rapidly in the direction from which he came.

As Captain Jack galloped along the lane the Ramblin’ Kid looked at the hat curiously, turning it first one way and then the other.  With a laugh he reached into his pocket and drew out the pink satin garter.  An expression of tenderness, followed by a look of deep humility that quickly changed into savage anger, came into his eyes as he looked first at the hat, soiled and dirty, and then at the dainty bit of elastic he held in his hand.

“A swell pair of souvenirs,” he said bitterly, “for an ’ign’rant, savage, stupid brute’ of a cow-puncher to be packin’ around!”

Before reaching the barn the Ramblin’ Kid dropped the garter again into his pocket.  Rounding the end of the shed he rode Captain Jack directly up to Carolyn June.  Dismounting, he left the little roan standing, not troubling to drop the reins over the broncho’s head, stepped toward the girl and extended the hat, saying simply and without emotion.

“Here’s your hat!”