"I saw them all, I believe," answered Margaret. "They went through Twin River just before we started." "Cock Murray came back with you. Did you see my husband? He started out to find Mr. Peters." "Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Booth went after that Dave brute." "Where was Buck?" "He was wounded, Mrs. Cassidy. Not badly, they say. Dave shot him from ambush. We found him lying in the road." "Oh! I ought to go to him," and Mary started from her seat. "Certainly not," declared Mrs. Blake. "It is quite evident that you do not appreciate the comforts of inertia. Besides, from what Margaret tells me, he is well taken care of." "Oh! and I forgot the medicine chest," exclaimed Margaret. "Yes, he has an attentive nurse, Mrs. Cassidy. We took him to the LaFrance place. And I must get that medicine chest from Whitby’s kit and send it over. Where are Whitby’s things, Mrs. Cassidy?" "They ’re in th’ bunk-house. Murray will get them for you. So Buck is there? Did you see the French Rose, Miss McAllister?" "Yes, haven’t you? She is lovely; so serious and calm and strong. In some way she makes you feel that she is sure to do the right thing at the right time. Oh, I like her, immensely." "Liking goes by contrasts," sleepily reminded Mrs. Blake. Mary smiled no less at Margaret’s grimace than at Mrs. Blake’s pointed sarcasm. "She has n’t been to the ranch since we-all came," said Mary. "Buck says she rid over quite often afore that. I ’m glad Rose is ’tendin’ him; from what I hear of her he could n’t be in better hands." "Mr. Peters seemed glad, too," said Margaret, suggestively; "and Miss LaFrance did not seem at all sorry." Before Mary could respond to Margaret’s unspoken question, the door opened with a bang and Pickles rushed in. "Been a-helpin’ them sheep with th’ trunks," he informed them. "Where’s Hopalong? Did he find Buck? That cacklin’ Murray has forgot how to crow; he on’y grunts." "Hopalong has gone after Dave. He shot Buck," answered Mary. "Not dead!" Pickles was aghast. "No, only wounded." "I just _got_ to kill that Dave. Rose has got to lemme off on that promise. I bet she will now he ’s gone an’ shot up Buck." Mrs. Blake stirred in her chair and opened one eye. "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—" "Sucker yoreself!" retorted Pickles. "Reckon you think I don’t know nothin’. You wait." He slammed the door behind him and stamped off, greatly incensed. His advice to Jake, who told him to open the other door while he carried in a trunk, was impossible to follow, involving a journey from which no one, not even Jake, would ever be likely to return.