“You—–­you——­you fellows ought to be ashamed to pick on a wounded man that way.  Don’t you know I’ve been shot?”

“Shot?”

“Yes, shot.”

“He’s been shot,” chorused the boys and the Rangers together.

“Any of the rest of you kiddies been wounded in the fracas?” demanded Folly.

“No, but you’ve overlooked two of us,” announced Ned stepping out.  “We haven’t had our baths yet and I reckon we need them.”

Without a word, two of the Rangers got up and threw the two remaining boys into the pool.  Ned went in with a mighty splash, Walter Perkins landing on top of him, nearly taking away the breath of Rector.  They had a rough and tumble scrimmage in the cold water, coming out choking, dripping and laughing.

All this made a favorable impression on the Rangers.  Boys who could take rough handling such as this, without losing their tempers or even offering any objection, surely must be worth while.  Then, too, there was the story about Tad and Ned having captured the desperado, Dunk Tucker, who was now well on his way to the calaboose in El Paso.

“I reckon you kin go back and dry off now,” drawled Dippy.  “Anything else you cayuses reckon you want?”

“Yes, you might fetch me a piece of soap,” answered Butler laughingly.

“I reckon you’ll use sand, young man,” answered Orell witheringly.

The Pony Rider Boys made their way back to the camp, wet but happy, the only dissatisfied one in the crowd being Stacy Brown.  But their troubles for the night were not wholly over yet.  Their initiation was not yet complete.  The Rangers had still other plans for their visitors.

CHAPTER XI

BAG-BAITING THE ’POSSUMS

“Guess you fellows are forgetting about that ’possum hunt?” drawled Cad Morgan as the boys came noisily into camp.

“’Possum hunt?” cried Stacy, brightening at once.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” answered Morgan witheringly.  “Don’t break in when men are talking.”

“Men?  Where are your men?  I want to go ’possum hunting, too.”

“So do I,” chorused Ned and Walter.  Tad did not speak.  He was watching the Rangers to see if they meant it.  Evidently they did.

“That’s so,” answered Dippy.  “We had plumb forgotten all about it.  We better get a move on or we won’t have that ’possum for breakfast.  Ever go bag-baiting for ’possum?” he demanded wheeling on Tad.

“I never did.”

“Neither did I,” interjected Stacy crowding in between Tad and the Ranger.  “I want to bag a ’possum.”

“Better look sharp or the ’possum will bag you,” warned Pete Quash.

“I guess I’m not afraid of any ’possum that ever climbed a tree.  Haven’t I killed lions and bob cats and fought Indians, and—–­”

“Stop it!” roared Dippy.  “I’ll be worse’n my name if you keep filling me up with that line of talk.”