Not at once did Jimmy Hayes attain full brotherhood with his comrades.  They loved him for his simplicity and drollness, but there hung above him a great sword of suspended judgment.  To make merry in camp is not all of a ranger’s life.  There are horse-thieves to trail, desperate criminals to run down, bravos to battle with, bandits to rout out of the chaparral, peace and order to be compelled at the muzzle of a six-shooter.  Jimmy had been “’most generally a cow-puncher,” he said; he was inexperienced in ranger methods of warfare.  Therefore the rangers speculated apart and solemnly as to how he would stand fire.  For, let it be known, the honour and pride of each ranger company is the individual bravery of its members.

For two months the border was quiet.  The rangers lolled, listless, in camp.  And then—­bringing joy to the rusting guardians of the frontier—­Sebastiano Saldar, an eminent Mexican desperado and cattle-thief, crossed the Rio Grande with his gang and began to lay waste the Texas side.  There were indications that Jimmy Hayes would soon have the opportunity to show his mettle.  The rangers patrolled with alacrity, but Saldar’s men were mounted like Lochinvar, and were hard to catch.

One evening, about sundown, the rangers halted for supper after a long ride.  Their horses stood panting, with their saddles on.  The men were frying bacon and boiling coffee.  Suddenly, out of the brush, Sebastiano Saldar and his gang dashed upon them with blazing six-shooters and high-voiced yells.  It was a neat surprise.  The rangers swore in annoyed tones, and got their Winchesters busy; but the attack was only a spectacular dash of the purest Mexican type.  After the florid demonstration the raiders galloped away, yelling, down the river.  The rangers mounted and pursued; but in less than two miles the fagged ponies laboured so that Lieutenant Manning gave the word to abandon the chase and return to the camp.

Then it was discovered that Jimmy Hayes was missing.  Some one remembered having seen him run for his pony when the attack began, but no one had set eyes on him since.  Morning came, but no Jimmy.  They searched the country around, on the theory that he had been killed or wounded, but without success.  Then they followed after Saldar’s gang, but it seemed to have disappeared.  Manning concluded that the wily Mexican had recrossed the river after his theatric farewell.  And, indeed, no further depredations from him were reported.

This gave the rangers time to nurse a soreness they had.  As has been said, the pride and honour of the company is the individual bravery of its members.  And now they believed that Jimmy Hayes had turned coward at the whiz of Mexican bullets.  There was no other deduction.  Buck Davis pointed out that not a shot was fired by Saldar’s gang after Jimmy was seen running for his horse.  There was no way for him to have been shot.  No, he had fled from his first fight, and afterward he would not return, aware that the scorn of his comrades would be a worse thing to face than the muzzles of many rifles.