The Young Lion Hunter | Page 2

I shore am glad to see you," replied Jim, as he wrung and
pumped Ken's hand. "But I wouldn't 'a' knowed you. Why, how you've
growed! An' you wasn't no striplin' when you trimmed the Greaser last
summer. Ken, you could lick him now in about a minnit."
"Well, maybe not quite so quick," replied Ken, laughing. "Jim, I've
taken on fifteen or twenty pounds since I had that scrap with the
Greaser, and I've had a season's training under the most famous football
and baseball trainers in the world."
"Wal, now, Ken, you're shore goin' to tell me all about thet," said Jim,
greatly interested.
To me Ken Ward had changed, and I studied him with curious interest.
The added year sat well upon him, for there was now no suggestion of
callowness. The old frank, boyish look was the same, yet somewhat
different. Ken had worked, studied, suffered. But as to his build, it was
easy to see the change. That promise of magnificent strength and agility,
which I had seen in him since he was a mere boy, had reached its
fulfilment. Lithe and straight as an Indian, almost tall, wide across the
shoulders, small-waisted and small-hipped, and with muscles rippling

at his every move, he certainly was the most splendid specimen of
young manhood I had ever seen.
"Hey, Kid, why don't you come down?" called Ken to the boy on top of
the stage. "Here's Dick Leslie--you remember him."
I looked from the boy to Ken.
"It's my brother Hal," responded Ken. "Father wanted me to bring him
along, and Hal has been clean mad ever since I was out West last year.
So, Dick, I had to bring him. I expect you'll be angry with me, but I
couldn't have come without him. I wanted him along, too, Dick, and if
it's all right with you--"
"Sure, Ken, it's all right," I interrupted. "Only he's pretty much of a
kid--has he got any sand?"
"He's all sand," replied Ken, in a lower voice. "That's the trouble; he's
got too much sand."
Ken called to his brother again and the youngster reluctantly clambered
down. Evidently the meeting with Ken's ranger friends was to be an
ordeal for Hal. I seemed to remember his freckled face and red head,
but not very well. Then he dropped over the wheel of the stage, and
came toward me readily, holding out his hand.
"Hullo, Dick, I remember you all right," he said.
I replied to his greeting and gave the lad a close scrutiny. I should say
fourteen years would have topped his age. He was short, sturdy, and
looked the outdoor boy. His expression was one of intense interest, as if
he lived every moment of his life to its utmost, and he had the most
singular eyes I ever beheld. They were very large, of a piercing light
gray, and they seemed to take everything in with a kind of daring flash.
Altogether, I thought, here was a lad out of the ordinary, one with latent
possibilities which gave me a vague alarm.
"Wal, now, so you're Ken's brother," said Jim Williams. "I shore am

glad to see you. Ken an' me was pretty tolerable pals last summer, an' I
reckon you an' me kin be thet, too."
It was plain Jim liked the looks of the youngster or else he would never
have made that speech. Hal approached the ranger and shook hands
awkwardly. He was not timid, but backward. I saw that he was all eyes,
and he looked Jim over from spurs to broadbrim with the look of one
who was comparing the reality with a picture long carried in mind. Of
course Ken had told Hal all about the Texan, and what that telling must
have been showed plainly in the lad's manner. Manifestly he was
satisfied with Jim's tall form, his sun-scorched face and hawk eyes, the
big blue gun Jim packed, and the high boots and spurs he wore.
"Where's Hiram Bent?" asked Ken, earnestly. "Hiram's back on the
saddle with his hounds. He's waiting for us."
"He told me about them," replied Ken. "Lion dogs, the best in the West,
Hiram said. I guess maybe I'm not aching to see them...Dick! My
mustang! I forgot him. What did you ever do with him? You know I
left him with you at Holston last summer."
"We'll see if we can't hear something of him," I replied, evasively, as if
I wanted Ken to meet a disappointment gradually. His face fell, but he
did not say any more about the mustang. "Ken, I'm going to sign you
into service as a ranger--my helper. Hiram is game-warden, you know,
and I've arranged' for us to go with him. He's specially engaged now in
trying