Dick, clapping Bert on the shoulder.

"That's the bonehead, sure enough," echoed Tom.

"Oh, come off," growled Bert, flushing a little and fidgeting uneasily in his seat. "There was a whole lot of luck about it, anyway. If we hadn't had the paperweight, all the thinking in the world wouldn't have done us a bit of good."

"If you hadn't had the thinking, all the paperweights in the world wouldn't have done us a bit of good," corrected Tom.

"Well, there's glory enough for all," smiled the conductor. "The main point is that you fellows have put me and the company under a load of gratitude and obligation that we can never repay. Call it quick thinking, quick acting, or both—you turned the trick."

"It had to be a case of 'the quick or the dead,'" grinned Tom.

"Sure thing," assented the conductor. "You were the quick and those two rascals are the dead. Or will be before long," he added grimly. "I'll turn them over to the sheriff at the next station. There's a hand bill in the baggage car describing a band of outlaws that the authorities of three States have been after for a long time for robbery and murder, and two of the descriptions fit these fellows to a dot. There's a price on their heads, dead or alive, and I guess they've reached the end of their rope in more senses than one."

He passed on and the boys relaxed in their seats. They were still under the nervous strain of the stirring scene in which they had been the chief actors. Tom's breath was coming fast and his eyes were shining.

Bert looked at him for a moment and then nudged Dick.

"Didn't I hear some one say a little while ago," he asked slyly, "that in this little old United States there was too much civilization?"

"Yes," replied Dick, still quoting, "nothing ever happens nowadays."

CHAPTER II

The Ranch in the Rockies

With a great roar and rattle and clangor of bells, the train drew up at the little station where the boys were to descend. Their long rail journey of nearly three thousand miles was over, but they still had a forty-mile drive before they would reach the ranch.

For a half hour previous they had been gathering their traps together and saying good-by to their friends on the train. These last included all of the travelers, who, since the capture of the robbers, had insisted on making heroes of the boys. In vain they had protested that the thanks were out of all proportion to the service rendered. The passengers themselves knew better. And it was amid a chorus of the friendliest farewells and good wishes that they had stepped to the rude platform of the station.

"Not much of a metropolis about this," said Tom as they looked around.

"Hardly," agreed Dick. "The principal thing here is space. You can cross the street without the help of a traffic cop."

"And only one street to cross, at that," added Bert.

It was the typical small town of the Western plains. The one crooked street parallel with the track stretched on either side of the station for perhaps half a mile, lined with houses at irregular intervals. There was no pretence of a sidewalk and even fences were conspicuous by their absence. The business part of the town consisted of a general store that served also as a post office, a blacksmith shop and three saloons, to one of which a dance hall was attached. Business seemed brisk in these, judging from the many mustangs that were tied to rails outside, patiently waiting for their masters who were "tanking up" within and accumulating their daily quota of "nose paint." A Mexican in a tattered serape was sitting on the steps of the store rolling a cigarette, while an Indian, huddled in a greasy blanket and evidently much the worse for fire water, sat crouched against the shack that served as baggage-room at the left end of the station.

Down the platform came hustling a big burly form that they recognized in an instant.

"Mr. Melton," they cried in chorus as they rushed with extended hands to meet him.

"Sure thing," he responded, his face beaming with delight at their hearty greeting. "Did you think I'd send one of my men to meet you? Not on your life. Nothing less than a broken leg would have kept me from coming to give you the first welcome to old Montana. Came down yesterday so that the horses could have a good rest before starting back again. Come right along now and tumble into the buckboard. One of my men will look after your duds and bring them along later."

All talking at once, they came to the farther end of the platform, where a big mountain wagon was waiting. It was drawn by a pair of wiry mustangs that champed impatiently at the bit.

"Not very pretty to look at," said Melton, "but they're holy terrors when it comes to traveling. Jump in."

They all piled in and Melton gathered up the reins. He chirped to the horses and they started off at a rate that justified all he had said as to their speed. But he held them in check and subdued them to a trot that, while moderate in appearance, ate up the miles amazingly.

"Pure grit and iron, those little sinners," he commented. "But they've got a long way to go, and we're sure even at this rate to get home in plenty of time for supper. Now, tell me all about yourselves."

Which they proceeded to do in detail, not neglecting the attempted hold-up on the train. He listened with the keenest interest.

"So you got the best of 'Red' Thompson and 'Shag' Leary," he exclaimed in astonishment. "The toughest nuts we've had to crack in this section for years. A good many people will breathe easier now that they're trapped. They're 'bad men' through and through, and if their pistol butts had a notch on them for every man they've killed, they'd look like saws. And with nothing but a paperweight and bare fists," he chuckled. "They sure must feel sore. What was done with them?"

"Oh, the conductor handed them over to the sheriff at one of the stations," answered Bert. "I suppose they'll be tried before long."

"Maybe," said Melton a little dubiously. "My own private hunch, though, is that Judge Lynch will invite them to a little necktie party. They've lived a heap sight too long already, and there won't be much formality wasted on them.

"You boys sure have the nerve," he went on. "You got away with it all right, but you took an awful chance."

"Yes," quoted Dick:

"Those born to be hung will never be shot," laughed Tom. "I guess that explains our escape so far."

"It beats the Dutch the faculty you fellows have of getting into scrapes and out again," commented Melton. "I believe you'd smell a scrap a mile away. You'd rather fight than eat."

"You won't think so when you see what we'll do to that supper of yours to-night," retorted Tom. "Gee, but this air does give you an appetite."

"The one thing above all others that Tom doesn't need," chaffed Dick. "But he's right, just the same. The way I feel I could make a wolf look like thirty cents."

"You can't scare me with that kind of talk," challenged Melton. "Let out your belts to the last notch and I'll guarantee they'll be tight when you get up from the table."

"That listens good," said Tom. "I'm perfectly willing you should call my bluff."

With jest and laughter the afternoon wore on and the shadows cast by the declining sun began to lengthen. After their long confinement on the train, the boys felt as though they had been released from prison. They had been so accustomed to a free, unfettered life that they had chafed at the three days' detention, where the only chance they had to stretch their limbs had been afforded by the few minutes wait at stations. Now they enjoyed to the full the sense of release that came to them in their new