“I don’t like the way things are going at all, and I just wish those two people were back where they came from. They have turned the ranche upside down since they have been here, and now I begin to feel as though they were the masters, and that I have no more rights than a tramp who had dropped in to beg a night’s lodging!” The speaker, a sturdy, broad-shouldered youth, about fifteen years of age, was sitting on the porch in front of the house in which he lived, busily engaged in mending a broken bridle with an awl and a piece of waxed-end. His name was George Ackerman, and he was one of the boys whom we introduced to the notice of the reader in the concluding volume of the “Boy Trapper Ser…
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