“Well, come in, and wait till I saddle my horse, and we’ll see about that,” said Johnny.  “Until you came here, I could beat any boy in the settlement.  I give in to Frank, but I can show that ugly old buffalo hunter of yours a pretty pair of heels.  Boys!” he added, suddenly, “my day’s fun is all knocked in the head.  See there!”

The cousins looked in the direction indicated, and saw a horseman approaching at a rapid gallop.  He was mounted on a large iron-gray, which looked enough like Roderick to have been his brother, sat as straight as an arrow in his saddle, and managed his fiery charger with an ease and dexterity that showed him to be an accomplished rider.

“That’s Colonel Arthur Vane—­a neighbor with whom you are not yet acquainted,” said Johnny, with strong emphasis on the word colonel.  “He is from Kentucky.  His father came to this country about six months since, and bought the rancho adjoining your uncle’s.  Arthur remained here long enough for Dick and me to become as well acquainted with him as we cared to be, and then went back to Kentucky to visit his friends.  He returned a few days ago, and now we may make up our minds to have him for a companion.”

“What sort of a fellow is he, Johnny?” asked Frank.

“I don’t admire him,” replied Johnny, who, like Archie, never hesitated to speak his mind very freely.  “From what I have seen of him, I should say that he is not a boy who is calculated to make friends.  He talks and brags too much.  He tries to use big words in conversation, and criticises every one around him most unmercifully.  He is one of those knowing fellows; but, after you have exchanged a few words with him, you will find that he doesn’t know so very much after all.  He has been all over the world, if we are to believe what he says, and has been the hero of adventures that throw your encounter with Pierre Costello into the shade.  He carries no less than seven bullets in his body.”

“Seven bullets!” echoed Archie.  “Why, I should think they would kill him.”

“So they would, most likely, if he only had them in him,” replied Johnny.  “He is a famous hunter and trapper, owns two splendid horses, a pack of hounds, three or four fine guns, and makes himself hot and happy in a suit of buckskin.  If it were not for his smooth face and dandy airs, one would take him for some old mountain man.  He gave Dick and me a short history of his life—­which he will be sure to repeat for your benefit—­and was foolish enough to believe that we were as green as two pumpkins because we had never been in the States, and that we would swallow any thing.  But, if we have always lived in a wilderness, we have not neglected our books, and we are well enough posted to know that Arthur makes great mistakes sometimes.”

“But why is your day’s fun all knocked in the head?” asked Archie.

“Because I can’t enjoy myself when Arthur is around.  I am always afraid that I shall do or say something that he won’t like.  Every time I look at him, I am reminded of Byron’s Corsair, who, you know, was