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“Cowboy?” said Bob, at once interested by the two magic words “riding range.” He had met them in many books of adventure. They brought up thoughts of bucking bronchos, fights with Indians, and all the rest of the romance of the West. That this boy of about his own age could be a cowboy was really exciting. But he missed the woolly chaps and the sombrero. The boy was simply dressed in overalls, went barefooted and wore a heavy slouch hat. “Let’s give the old fellow our air mattress. We won’t need it any more and maybe he would like it.” “I know,” put in Bob. “I didn’t have a mother either. At least, it was so long ago I can hardly remember her.”.
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The heart of a Princess, it seems pretty plain, “I guess he thinks the Gringo got mixed up with a charge of dynamite!” was the boy’s reflection as he scuttled up to his room. “Oh, no. I don’t want anything.” What would Father think if he knew that they had taken money for rowing a person ashore? Oh, dear! That had been wrong then. Johnny Blossom sat doubled together, scowling fiercely, as was his habit when he was worried about anything. That miserable five cents—why had they taken it?.
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