"Run away, farmer," said Curly, sardonically. "Willie will send for
nursey when he feels like having his tub."

The _charco_, or water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of
Curly's ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink.
Then with the strength and sleight of a hammer-thrower he hurled the
offending member of society far into the lake.

Curly crawled out and up the bank spluttering like a porpoise.

Ranse met him with a piece of soap and a coarse towel in his hands.

"Go to the other end of the lake and use this," he said. "Buck will
give you some dry clothes at the wagon."

The tramp obeyed without protest. By the time supper was ready he had
returned to camp. He was hardly to be recognised in his new shirt and
brown duck clothes. Ranse observed him out of the corner of his eye.

"Lordy, I hope he ain't a coward," he was saying to himself. "I hope
he won't turn out to be a coward."

His doubts were soon allayed. Curly walked straight to where he stood.
His light-blue eyes were blazing.

"Now I'm clean," he said meaningly, "maybe you'll talk to me. Think
you've got a picnic here, do you? You clodhoppers think you can run
over a man because you know he can't get away. All right. Now, what do
you think of that?"