"
"And who's this with you--your new chum; the boy from Kentucky?"
"That's who it is, Peg--Bob Archer; and he's come out West to see how
life on the plains suits him."
"Oh! a greenhorn, eh?"
"Perhaps some people might call him that, though he knows a heap about
horses. But seems to me, Peg, 'twasn't so very long ago that you
yourself dropped in on us here. Since when did you climb up out of the
tenderfoot class, tell me?"
The boy who answered to the name of Frank Haywood was a rather chunky,
well set-up lad of about sixteen. He had blue eyes, that were usually
sparkling with mirth; and a mop of yellow hair; while his skin was
darkened by long exposure to sun and wind.
Frank was the son of a rancher, who not only owned a large tract of
land with many herds, but had interests in paying mines located among
the mountains of the Southwest. Of course he knew more or less
concerning such things as cowboys practice; though never a day passed
on which Frank could not pick up new ideas connected with life in the
open.
His companion, Bob Archer, was considerably taller than Frank, straight
as an Indian, though rather inclined to be slender; but with a
suppleness that indicated such strength and agility as the panther
displays.
Coming from Kentucky, Bob could at least boast of long familiarity with
horses; and his cleverness in this line promised to make him a crack
horseman when he had picked up a few more of the tricks known to range
riders.
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