ad as it trotted down upon her. Wallie had long since abandoned the pony he was leading, and with all the speed his own was capable of, was doing his best to intercept the animal before it reached her. But he was still a long way off and even as Helene cried out the steer broke into a gallop. Canby, too, instantly grasped the situation. "If I only had a rifle!" "Perhaps we can turn it! We'll have to make an awful run for it but we can try!" They had already gathered the reins and were spurring their horses down the declivity. Canby's thoroughbred leaped into the air as the steel pricked it and Helene was soon left behind. She saw that she could figure only as a spectator, so she slowed down and watched what followed in fascinated horror. Canby was considerably farther off than Wallie, in the beginning, but the racing blood in the former's horse's veins responded gallantly to the urge of its rider. It stretched out and laid down to its work like a hare with the hounds behind it, quickly equalizing the distance. Aunt Lizzie was poking at a rock with her toe when she looked up suddenly and saw her danger. The steer with a spread of horns like antlers and tapering to needle points was rushing down upon her, infuriated. For a moment she stood, weak with terror, unable to move, until her will asserted itself and then, shrieking, she ran as fast as her stiff old legs could carry her. Wallie and Canby reached the steer almost together. A goodly distance still intervened between it and Aunt Lizzie, but the gap was shortening with sickening rapidity and Helene grew cold as she saw that, try as they might, they could not head it. The animal seemed to be conscious only of its fleeing victim. When she ran, her flight appeared to excite and enrage it further, for it bawled with anger. The fluttering petticoats were a challenge, and the steer was bent on reaching and destroying the strange object with the weapons nature had given it. It was accustomed to horsemen and had no fear of them, but it saw a menace in the little old woman screaming just ahead, so it ignored Canby and Wallie, and they could not swerve it. Helene wrung her hands in a frenzy as she watched their futile efforts. Wallie always carried a rope on his saddle, why didn't he use it? Was he afraid? Couldn't he? She felt a swift return of her old contempt for him. Was he only a "yellow-back" cowpuncher after all, underneath his Western regalia? Momentarily she despised him. Notwithstanding his brave appearance he was as useless in a crisis like this as Canby. Pinkey was more of a man than either of them. He would stop that steer somehow if he had only his pocketknife to do it. Her lip curled disdainfully for she had an innate contempt of impotency and failure. She cried out sharply as Aunt Lizzie stumbled and pitched headlong. Between exhaustion and terror that paralyzed her she was unable to get up, though she tried. The steer, flaming-eyed, was now less than fifty yards from her. Helene felt herself grow nauseated. She meant to close her eyes when it happened. She had seen a horse gored to death by a bull and it was a sight she did not wish to see repeated. Canby in advance of Wallie was a little ahead of the steer, slapping at it with his bridle-reins, Wallie behind had been crowding its shoulder. But nothing could divert it from its purpose. Helene was about to turn her head away when she saw Wallie lay the reins on his horse's neck and lean from the saddle. His purpose flashed through Helene's mind instantly. Then she cried aloud--incredulously: "He's going to try _that_!" And added in a frightened whisper: "He can't do it! He can never do it!" Wallie's horse, which had been running at the steer's shoulder, missed his hand on the reins and lagged a little, so that the distance between them was such as to make what he meant to attempt seemingly impossible. For a second he rode with his arm outstretched as if gauging the distance, then Helene grew rigid as she saw him leave the saddle. He made it--barely. The gap was so big that it seemed as if it were not humanly possible more than to touch the short mane on the animal's neck with his finger-tips. But he clung somehow, his feet and body dragging, while the steer's speed increased rather than slackened. First with one hand and then the other he worked his way to a grip on the horns, which was what he wanted. The steer stopped to fight him. Its feet ploughed up the dirt as it braced them to resist him. Then they struggled. The steer was a big one, raw-boned, leggy, a typical old-time long-horn of the Texas ranges, and now in fear and rage it put forth all the strength of which it was capable. With his teeth grinding, Wallie fought it in desperation, trying to give the twist that drops the animal. Its breath in his face, the froth from its mouth blinded him, but still he clung while it threw him this and that way. He himself never knew where his strength came from. Suddenly the steer fell heavily and the two lay panting together. Helene drew the back of her hand across her eyes and brushed away the tears that blurred her vision, while a lump rose in her throat too big to swallow. "Gentle Annie" of The Colonial veranda, erstwhile authority on Battenburg and sweaters, had accomplished the most reckless of the dare-devil feats of the cow-country--he had "bull-dogged" a steer from horseback! CHAPTER XXI "WORMAN! WORMAN!" Business which had to do with the cache they had lifted from Tucker detained Pinkey in town longer than expected. He returned in the night and did not get up when the triangle jangled for breakfast. In fact, it was well into the forenoon when he appeared, only to learn that Miss Eyester had gone off with old Mr. Penrose to look at an eagle's nest. "What did he do that for?" Pinkey demanded of Wallie. "I presume he wanted her company," Wallie replied, composedly, entertained by the ferocity of Pinkey's expression. "Is he a dude or is he a duder that he has to go guidin' people to see sights they prob'ly don't want to look at?" "She seemed willing enough to go," Wallie answered. Pinkey sneered: "Mebbe I'd better git me a blue suit with brass buttons and stand around and open gates and unsaddle fer 'em." Wallie regarded his partner calmly. "Pinkey, you're _jealous_." "Jealous! Me jealous of an old Methuselah that don't know enough to make a mark in the road?" Unconsciously Pinkey's hand sought his eyebrows, as he laughed hollowly. "Why, I could show her a barrel of eagles' nests! I know whur there's a coyote den with pups in it! I know whur there's a petrified tree and oceans of Injun arrer heads, if she'd jest waited. But if anybody thinks I'm goin' to melt my boot-heels down taggin' a worman, they're mistaken!" Pinkey stamped off to the bunk-house and slammed the door behind him. "Where's Pinkey?" The question was general when it was observed that his chair was vacant at dinner. "Still reposing, I imagine," Wallie answered, humorously. Mrs. Budlong commented: "A night ride like that must be very fatiguing." "Oh, very." Wallie winked at himself figuratively, thinking that the 99 per cent. alcoholic content of one of Mr. Tucker's bottles undoubtedly accounted for his weariness. "You are sure he's not ill?" inquired Miss Eyester. She had not enjoyed her revenge upon Pinkey, for going away without telling her, as much as she had anticipated; besides, the eagle's nest turned out to be a crows' nest with no birds in it, and that was disappointing. Mr. Hicks, who frequently joined in the conversation when anything interested him, snorted from the kitchen doorway: "Ill? You couldn't make him 'ill' with a club with nails in it--that feller." "Oh, how dread-ful!" Aunt Lizzie clasped her hands, and looked at the brutal cook reprovingly. "Perhaps one of us had better awaken him," Miss Eyester suggested. "He should eat something." "Hor! Hor! Hor!" Mr. Hicks laughed raucously. "Maybe he don't feel like eating. Let him alone and he'll come out of it." Miss Eyester resented the aspersion the meaning of which was now plain to everybody, and said with dignity, rising: "If no one else will call him, I shall." "Rum has been the curse of the nation," observed Mr. Budlong to whom even a thimbleful gave a headache. "I wish I had a barrel of it," growled old Mr. Penrose. "When I get home I'm going to get me a worm and make moonshine." "Oh, how dread-ful!" "'Tain't," Mr. Penrose contradicted Aunt Lizzie, curtly. "'Tis!" retorted Aunt Lizzie. They glared at each other balefully, and while everybody waited to hear if she could think of anything else to say to him, Miss Eyester returned panting: "The door's locked and there's a towel pinned over the window." "No!" They exclaimed in chorus, and looked at Wallie. "Do you suppose any thing's happened?" "He locked the door because he does not want to be disturbed, and the towel is to keep the light out," Mr. Stott deduced. "Of _course_!" They all laughed heartily and admired Mr. Stott's shrewdness. "Any fool would have thought of that," growled Mr. Penrose. "You think you know everything," said Aunt Lizzie, in whom his threat to make moonshine and break the law still rankled. "I know quite a lot, if I could just think of it," replied Mr. Penrose almost good-naturedly. "All the same," declared the cook, scouring a frying-pan in the doorway, "it's not like him to go to all that trouble just to sleep. I'll go up and see if I can raise him." Even in the dining room they could hear Mr. Hicks banging on the door with the frying-pan, and calling. He returned in a few minutes. "There's something queer about it. It's still as a graveyard. He ain't snoring." "Could he have made way with himself?" Mr. Appel's tone was sepulchral. "Oh-h-h!" Miss Eyester gasped faintly. "Perhaps he has merely locked the door and he is outside," Mr. Stott suggested. "I'll go down and see if I can notice his legs stickin' out of the crick anywhere," said Mr. Hicks, briskly. "It is very curious--very strange indeed," they declared solemnly, though they all continued eating spare-ribs--a favourite dish with The Happy Family. The cook, returning, said in a tone that had a note of disappointment. "He ain't drowned." "Is his horse in the corral?" asked Wallie. Mr. Hicks took observations from the doorway and reported that it was, which deepened the mystery. Since no human being, unless he was drugged or dead, could sleep through the cook's battering with the frying-pan, Wallie himself grew anxious. He recalled Pinkey's gloom of the evening before he had gone to Prouty. "I wisht I'd died when I was little," he remembered his saying. Also Pinkey's moroseness of the morning and the ferocity of his expression took on special significance in the light of his strange absence. Instinctively Wallie looked at Miss Eyester. That young lady was watching him closely and saw his gravity. Unexpectedly she burst into tears so explosively that Mrs. Budlong moved back the bread plate even as she tried to comfort her. "I know something has happened! I _feel_ it! When Aunt Sallie choked on a fish-bone at Asbury Park I knew it before we got the wire. I'm sort of clairvoyant! Please excuse me!" Miss Eyester left the table, sobbing. It seemed heartless to go on eating when Pinkey, the sunshine of the ranch, as they suddenly realized, might be lying cold in death in the bunk-house, so they followed solemnly--all except Mrs. Henry Appel, who lingered to pick herself out another spare-rib, which she took with her in her fingers. They proceeded in a body to the bunk-house, where Wallie applied his eye to the keyhole and found it had been stuffed with something. This confirmed his worst suspicions. Nobody could doubt now but that something sinister had happened. Mr. Penrose, who had been straining his eyes at the window, peering through a tiny space between the towel and the window frame, declared he saw somebody moving. This, of course, was preposterous, for if alive Pinkey would have made a sound in response to their clamour, so nobody paid any attention to his assertion. "We'll have to burst the door in," said Mr. Stott in his masterful manner, but Wallie already had run for the axe for that purpose. Mrs. Appel, alternately gnawing her bone and crying softly, begged them not to let her see him if he did not look natural, while Miss Eyester leaned against the door-jamb in a fainting condition. "Maybe I can bust it with my shoulder," said Mr. Hicks, throwing his weight against the door. Immediately, as the lock showed signs of giving, a commotion, a shuffling, was heard, a sound as if a shoulder braced on the inside was resisting. There was a second's astonished silence and then a chorus of voices demanded: "Let us in! Pinkey! What _is_ the matter?" The answer was an inarticulate, gurgling sound that was blood-curdling. "He's cut his wind-pipe and all he can do is gaggle!" cried Mr. Hicks, excitedly, and made a frenzied attack on the door that strained the lock to the utmost. If the noise he made was any criterion it was judged that Pinkey's head must be nearly severed from his body--which made the resistance he displayed all the more remarkable. He was a madman, of course--that was taken for granted--and the ladies were warned to places of safety lest he come out slashing right and left with a razor. They ran and locked themselves in the kitchen, where they could look through the window--all except Miss Eyester, who declared dramatically that she had no further interest in life anyhow and wished to die by his hand, knowing herself responsible for what had happened. Wallie, breathless from running, arrived with the axe, which he handed to Mr. Hicks, who called warningly as he swung it: "Stand back, Pinkey!--I'm comin'!" The door crashed and splintered, and when it opened, Mr. Hicks fell in with it. He fell out again almost as quickly, for there was Pinkey with the glaring eyes of a wild man, his jaws open, and from his mouth there issued a strange white substance. "He's frothin'!" Mr. Hicks yelled shrilly. "He's got hydrophoby! Look out for him everybody!" "G-gg-ggg-ough!" gurgled Pinkey. "Who bit you, feller?" the cook asked, soothingly. "G-ggg-gg-ough!" was the agonized answer. "We'll have to throw and hog-tie him." Mr. Hicks looked around to see if there was a rope handy. "Don't let him snap at you," called Mr. Stott from a safe distance. "If it gets in your blood, you're goners." The cook who, as Pinkey advanced shaking his head and making vehement gestures, had retreated, was suddenly enlightened: "That ain't froth--it's plaster o' Paris--I bet you! Wait till I get a stick and poke it!" Pinkey nodded. "That's it!" Mr. Hicks cried, delightedly: "He's takin' a cast of his gooms--I told him about it." The look he received from Pinkey was murderous. "How are we going to get it out?" Wallie asked in perplexity. "It's way bigger than his mouth," said Mr. Appel, and old Mr. Penrose suggested humorously: "You might push it down and make him swallow it." "Maybe you could knock a little off at a time or chisel it," ventured Mr. Budlong. "It's hard as a rock," feeling of it. "You'll have to crack it." "It's like taking a hook out of a cat-fish," said the cook, facetiously. "Say, can you open your mouth any wider?" Pinkey made vehement signs that his mouth was stretched to the limit. "It's from ear to ear now, you might say," observed Mr. Budlong. "If you go to monkeying you'll have the top of his head off." "If I could just get my fist up in the roof somehow and then pry down on it." The size of Mr. Hicks' fist, however, made the suggestion impractical. "I believe I can pick it off little by little with a hairpin or a pair of scissors or something." Miss Eyester spoke both confidently and sympathetically. Pinkey nodded, his eyes full of gratitude and suffering. "Don't laugh at him," she pleaded, as they now were howling uproariously. "Just leave us alone and I'll manage it somehow." It proved that Miss Eyester was not over-sanguine for, finally, with the aid of divers tools and implements, Pinkey was able to spit out the last particle of the plaster of Paris. "I s'pose the story'll go all over the country and make me ridic'lous," he said, gloomily. Feeling the corners of his mouth tenderly: "I thought at first I'd choke to death before I'd let anybody see me. What I'll do to that cook," his eyes gleaming, "won't stand repeatin'. And if anybody dast say 'teeth' to me----" "Whatever made you do it?" Too angry for finesse, Pinkey replied bluntly: "I done it fer you. I thought you'd like me better if I had teeth, and now I s'pose you can't ever look at me without laughin'." Miss Eyester flipped a bit of plaster from his shirtsleeve with her thumb and finger. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt your feelings, ever." "Never?" "Never." "Then don't you go ridin' again with that old gummer." "Do you care, really?" shyly. "I'll tell the world I do!" Miss Eyester fibbed without a pang of conscience: "I never dreamed it." "I thought you wouldn't look at anybody unless they had money--you bein' rich 'n' ever'thing." "In the winter I earn my living cataloguing books in a public library. I hate it." Pinkey laid an arm about her thin shoulders. "Say, what's the chanct of gittin' along with you f'rever an' ever?" "Pretty good," replied Miss Eyester, candidly. CHAPTER XXII "KNOCKING 'EM FOR A CURVE" It had been put to a vote as to whether the party should make the trip through the Yellowstone Park by motor, stopping at the hotels, or on horseback with a camping outfit. Mr. Stott, after the persuasive manner in which he addressed a jury, argued: "We can ride in automobiles at home. That is no novelty. Than horseback riding, there is no more healthful exercise. We are all agreed that we have had enough of hotels, while camping will be a new and delightful experience. In the brief period that we shall lie next to nature's heart we will draw strength from her bosom. By camping, we can loaf along in leisurely fashion, taking our own time for seeing the wonders of the Yellowstone, and fishing." The programme he outlined was so sensible and attractive that everybody was in favour of it strongly except old Mr. Penrose, who declared that sleeping on the ground would give him rheumatism, and the fear that bugs would crawl in his ears made him restless. Mr. Stott, however, overcame his objection by assuring him that the ground was too dry to give any one rheumatism and he could provide himself with cotton against the other contingency. The outlook for a successful trip from every viewpoint was most promising, yet there were moments when Wallie had his doubts and misgivings. He supposed that it was his experience in dry-farming which had made him pessimistic concerning all untried ventures. Certainly it had destroyed his beautiful, child-like faith in the teaching that the hairs of his head were numbered and no harm could come to him. He had noticed that everyone who ever had dry-farmed carried the scars afterward. It was an unforgettable experience, like a narrow escape from lynching. Pinkey, on the contrary, had no sombre thoughts to disturb him. He was filled with boundless enthusiasm; though this condition was chronic since he had become engaged to Miss Eyester. Pinkey, in love, was worse than useless. Escorting Miss Eyester was now his regular business, with dude wrangling reduced to a side issue. Therefore it had devolved upon Wallie to buy teepees, extra bedding, food, and the thousand and one things necessary to comfort when camping. It all had been accomplished finally, and the day came when the caravan was drawn up beside the Prouty House ready to start toward the Yellowstone. A delighted populace blocked the sidewalk while they awaited the appearance of Miss Gaskett's friend, Miss Mercy Lane, who had arrived on a night train according to arrangement. The cavalcade, if not imposing, was at least arresting. No one could pass it yawning. There was no one who had come to see the party start who did not feel repaid for the effort. First, there was Mr. Hicks, driving four horses and the "grub-wagon," and leading the procession. He handled the lines with an aplomb reminiscent of the coaching days of Reginald Vanderbilt, together with the noble bearing of the late Ben Hur tooling his chariot. Mr. Hicks dignified the "grub-wagon" to such an extent that it was a treat to look at him. Second in place was Pinkey, driving the tent-and-bed-wagon, with Miss Eyester on the high spring-seat beside him. Behind Pinkey came "Red" McGonnigle, driving a surrey provided for those who should become fatigued with riding horseback. The vehicle, like the stage-coach, was a bargain, sold cheaply by the original owner because of the weakness of the springs, which permitted the body to hit the axle when any amount of weight was put in it. This was a discovery they made after purchase. Aunt Lizzie Philbrick was the only passenger, though it was anticipated that Miss Mercy Lane would prefer to drive also, since she had had no previous riding. Behind the surrey was the riding party, even more startling than when they had first burst upon Wallie in their bead-work and curio-store trappings. Mr. Stott was wearing a pair of "chaps" spotted like a pinto, while Mr. Budlong in flame-coloured angora at a little distance looked as if his legs were afire. Their ponies peered out shamefacedly through brilliant, penitentiary-made, horse-hair bridles, and old Mr. Penrose was the envy of everybody in a greasy, limp-brimmed Stetson he had bought from a freighter. Also he had acquired a pair of 22-inch, "eagle's bill" tapaderas. He looked like a mounted pirate, and, in his evil moments, after sleeping badly, he acted like one. Everyone was in high spirits and eager to get started. Mr. Stott surreptitiously spurred his horse to make him cavort more spiritedly before the spectators, and the horse responded in such a manner that the rising young attorney was obliged to cling with both hands to the saddle-horn. When he came back, slightly paler, Wallie said curtly: "You don't need spurs on that horse." "I'm the best judge of that," Stott retorted. Wallie said nothing further, for at the moment the crowd parted to permit the passing of the newcomer from Zanesville, Ohio. As he saw her, Wallie felt willing to renew his promise to Miss Gaskett not to fall in love with her. Wallie was a charitable soul, and chivalrous, but he could not but think that Miss Mercy, who was a trained nurse, must have changed greatly since she and Miss Gaskett were school-girls. She wore a masculine hat with a quill in it and a woollen skirt that bagged at the knees like trousers. Her hair was thin at the temples, and she wore gold glasses astride her long, "foxy" nose. Although no average cake would have held the candles to which Miss Mercy's birthdays entitled her, she was given to "middy" blouses and pink sweaters. "Merce has such a unique personality that I am sure you are going to enjoy her," beamed Miss Gaskett in presenting Wallie. Wallie murmured that he had no doubt of it, and boosted Miss Mercy into the surrey. With nothing further to detain them, Mr. Hicks swung his lash and the four went off at a gallop, with the cooking utensils in the rear rattling so that it sounded like a runaway milk-wagon. He had been instructed to drive ahead and select a suitable place for the noon-day luncheon in order that everything should be in readiness upon their arrival, but to the others Wallie had suggested that they ride and drive more slowly to save the horses. In spite of Wallie's request, however, Mr. Stott, seeing the cook getting ahead, started off at a gallop to overtake him. In no uncertain voice Wallie called to him. "You will oblige me if you will ride more slowly," Wallie said, speaking very distinctly when Mr. Stott came back to ask what was wanted. "Why, what's the matter?" His feigned innocence added to Wallie's anger. "I don't want that horse ruined." "I am paying for him," Stott returned, insolently. "I still own him, and it's my privilege to say how he shall be ridden." Stott dropped back suddenly but Wallie foresaw trouble with him before the trip was finished, though he meant to hold his temper as long as possible. The reprimand had a beneficial effect upon the other equestrians, who had contemplated dashing after Mr. Stott, but now concluded to jog along at a reasonable gait, working off their superfluous energy in asking questions. Did eagles really carry off children? And was the earth under the Yellowstone Park hollow? In the surrey "Red" McGonnigle was putting forth his best efforts to entertain Aunt Lizzie and Miss Mercy, which he considered as much a part of his duties as driving. A portion of the road was through a cañon, cut from the solid rock in places, with narrow turnouts, and a precipitous descent of hundreds of feet to a sinister-looking green river roaring in the bottom. "Now, here," said Mr. McGonnigle, as they entered it, lolling back in the seat and crossing his legs in leisurely fashion, "is where there's been all kinds of accee-dents." He pointed with the stub of a buggy-whip: "About there is where four horses on a coal-wagon run away and went over. Two was killed and one was crippled so they had to shoot it." "Oh, how dread-ful!" Aunt Lizzie exclaimed, nervously. Miss Mercy's contralto voice boomed at him: "What happened to the driver?" "His bones was broke in a couple of dozen places, but they picked him up, and sence, he has growed together." Miss Mercy snickered. "You see that p'int ahead of us? Onct a feller ridin' a bronc backed off there. They rolled two hundred feet together. Wonder it didn't kill 'em." Aunt Lizzie was twisting her fingers and whispering: "Oh, how dread-ful!" "Jest around that bend," went on the entertainer, expectorating with deliberation before he continued, "a buggy tried to pass a hay-wagon. It was a brand-new buggy, cost all of $250, and the first time he'd took his family out in it. Smashed it to kindlin' wood. The woman threw the baby overboard and it never could see good out of one eye afterward. She caught on a tree when she was rollin' and broke four ribs, or some such matter. He'd ought to a-knowed better than to pass a hay-wagon where it was sidlin'. Good job, says I, fer havin' no judgment though I was one of his pall-bearers, as an accommodation." Aunt Lizzie was beyond exclaiming, and Miss Mercy's toes were curling and uncurling, though she preserved a composed exterior. After setting the brake, McGonnigle went on humorously, gesticulating spaciously while the slack of the lines swung on the single-tree: "On this here hill the brake on a dude's automo-bubbly quit on him. When he come to the turn he went on over. Ruined the car, plumb wrecked it, and it must a cost $1,500 to $2,000. They shipped his corp' back East somewhere." Pale, and shaking like an aspen, Aunt Lizzie clung tightly to Miss Mercy. The scenery was sublime, but they had no eye for it. Their gaze was riveted upon the edge of the precipice some six or eight inches from the outer wheels of the surrey, and life at the moment looked as sweet as it seemed uncertain. Driving with one hand and pointing with the other, McGonnigle went on with the fluency for which he was celebrated: "That sharp curve we're comin' to is where they was a head-on collision between a chap on a motorcycle and a traction en-jine they was takin' through the cañon. He was goin' too fast, anyhow--the motorcycle--and it jest splattered him, as you might say, all over the front of the en-jine." Mr. McGonnigle put the lines between his knees and gripped