“No use talkin’,” Sandy broke out suddenly that night as they were smoking their pipes in the bunkhouse, “that Wilson is the finest feller that ever wore shoe leather.”

Buck, who was half asleep, roused himself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go quite so far as that,” he drawled, mistaking the reference.  “Still, he’s makin’ a pretty fair President.”

“Shucks,” snorted Sandy, “I didn’t mean him.  I was talkin’ of Bert.”

THE END