“Listen sharp, Pettie. Mind, I ain’t sure—you never can tell—there ain’t one of us here, as it chances, that’s ever seen Lee Marchbanks. You heard these fellers over there at the fence. What I’m thinking is that if Shorty, or me, or Thompson—or even Burch—was to try to leave this pasture, we’d have war on our hands. But you can go, I reckon. You can make it this-away: talk around free about being hungry, and ask me to let you go up to the house and get your dinner. Then, the minute you’re out of sight, you put spurs to that pony and ride all you know, straight for _Tres Piños_. If there’s nobody there, come back easy, for I reckon it’ll be all right. If you find the Flying M outfit camped at the spring, fetch ’em on the jump, honey.” He raised his voice. “There, I reckon that’ll hold—but it needs mending with a new one.” They sheered apart. Hilda whirled her pony to help Marchbanks with a calf he was heading. “Thank you, little lady,” he said, with an admiring glance for her horsemanship and skill. “You’re the girl for my money.” “I could work better if I wasn’t so hungry,” laughed Hilda. “Oh, Uncle Hank,” as Pearsall came past, “can’t I, please, go up to the house and get something to eat? I’m starving.” “Aw—you’re shirking, Hilda!” cried Burch, overhearing. “No fair! Uncle Hank, make her stay, and we’ll all go up together.” This accidental detail made Hilda’s exit very plausible. Marchbanks himself, pleased by the girl’s apparent liking, put in: “This work’s not fit for young ladies, anyhow. Let Miss Hilda go.” Hilda wheeled her pony and gave him the spur. “I’ll bring you all some of Sam Kee’s pi-i-ie!” she called back, as she galloped away toward the gate. Through all the excitement of the morning, she had not failed to keep an eye on the western trail. Suppose Pearse should be coming along now—just as she crossed it! Her nerves tautened to the thought. Back at the herd, Uncle Hank, a most patient and skillful handler of cattle, began to make a series of strange blunders. Twice he nearly stampeded the Marchbanks cut. Once he put his pony so squarely across the colonel’s path that it was only by fine horsemanship that that gentleman missed a bad fall. “For God’s sake, old man!” he snarled. “Get in the house and tend to your knitting, and let us work these cows. You needn’t be afraid I won’t leave you your share. If you stay out here and make many more passes like that, we’ll have men to bury.” “I was thinking about something else.” Pearsall seemed to overlook the rebuke. “I ain’t generally so awkward. Maybe I’d better go down and mend fence.” “Not till we’ve put our cattle through that gap!” cried Marchbanks. “Oh—all right, all right,” agreed the manager.