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“I think it’s a rotten deal they’re handing you!” exploded the boy. “Ugh, how wet I am!” said Johnny, and then, “What was the scheme the cattlemen had decided upon?” Whitney wanted to know..

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Johnny Blossom hastened to get Mother’s sharpest scissors—the big shiny ones—for he intended to cut some long strips of stout cloth to tie the goat’s legs with. Johnny cut and cut. Suddenly the big blades slipped, caught Johnny’s little finger, and before he knew it, had cut the tip of it clean off! It hurt awfully—oh, well—not so terribly after all; but my, oh, my! how it bled! Johnny Blossom bound his not over-clean handkerchief around it, but still the blood came. Now it was all over his trousers. Perhaps he had better hide until it stopped. The idea of her calling him Johnny boy! That was perfectly outrageous! What right had she to call him by that name? He had outgrown it long ago, and no one used it now except just herself. Here he would be ten years old in a fortnight, no, in twelve days—or, to be exact, twelve days and a half, and so surely he was too old for that baby name. This word of commendation from his comrade pleased Bob immensely. It was the first word of approval he had had from his gloomy chum. “Easier, that’s all!” he answered. But both boys were glad when a new stretch of still water was reached. “All over, men. There’ll be no more trouble to-night. Our Mexicans are not mixed up in this yet and the soldiers have come to see that they don’t. They’ll be here any minute now!”.