of the wild land that lay before him.  For the first time in his life he looked upon the great Plains, and for the first time felt their fascination.  There came to him a subtle, strange exhilaration.  A sensation of confidence, of certainty, arose in his heart.  He trod as a conqueror upon a land new taken.  All the earth seemed happy and care-free.  A meadow lark was singing shrilly high up in the air; another lark answered, clanking contentedly from the grass, whence in the bright air its yellow breast showed brilliantly.

As Franklin was walking on, busy with the impressions of his new world, he became conscious of rapid hoof-beats coming up behind him, and turned to see a horseman careering across the open in his direction, with no apparent object in view beyond that of making all the noise possible to be made by a freckled-faced cowboy who had been up all night, but still had some vitality which needed vent.

“Eeeeee-yow-heeeeee!” yelled the cowboy, both spurring and reining his supple, cringing steed.  “Eeeeeee-yip-yeeeee!” Thus vociferating, he rode straight at the footman, with apparently the deliberate wish to ride him down.  He wist not that the latter had seen cavalry in his day, and was not easily to be disconcerted, and, finding that he failed to create a panic, he pulled up with the pony’s nose almost over Franklin’s shoulder.

“Hello, stranger,” cried the rider, cheerfully; “where are you goin’, this bright an’ happy mornin’?”

Franklin was none too pleased at the method of introduction selected by this youth, but a look at his open and guileless face forbade the thought of offence.  The cowboy sat his horse as though he was cognizant of no such creature beneath him.  His hand was held high and wabbling as he bit off a chew from a large tobacco plug the while he jogged alongside.

Franklin made no immediate reply, and the cowboy resumed.

“Have a chaw?” he said affably, and looked surprised when Franklin thanked him but did not accept.

“Where’s yore hoss, man?” asked the new-comer with concern.  “Where you goin’, headin’ plum south, an’ ’thout no hoss?”

“Oh,” said Franklin, smiling, “I’m not going far; only over south a mile or so.  I want to find a friend.  Colonel Battersleigh.  I think his place is only a mile or so from here.”

“Sure,” said the cowboy.  “Old Batty—­I know him.  He taken up a quarter below here.  Ain’t got his shack up yet.  But say, that’s a full mile from yer.  You ain’t goin’ to walk a mile, are you?”

“I’ve walked a good many thousand miles,” said Franklin, “and I shouldn’t wonder if I could get over this one.”

“They’s all kind of fools in the world,” said the rider sagely, and with such calm conviction in his tone that again Franklin could not take offence.  They progressed a time in silence.

“Say,” said the cowboy, after a time—­“say, I reckon I kin lick you.”