“We must get him up from there and into a box stall. There is one, isn't there?” “Y--e-s--” Chip hesitated. “I wouldn't ask the Old--your brother, for the use of it, though; not even for Silver.” “I will,” returned she, promptly. “I never feel any compunction about asking for what I want--if I can't get it any other way. I can't understand why you wanted to shoot--you must have known this bone could be set.” “I didn't WANT to--” Chip bent over and drove a fly from Silver's shoulder. “When a horse belonging to the outfit gets crippled like that, he makes coyote bait. A forty-dollar cow-puncher can't expect any better for his own horse.” “He'll GET better, whatever he may expect. I'm just spoiling for something to practice on, anyway--and he's such a beauty. If you can get him up, lead him to the stable while I go and tell J. G. and get some one to help.” She started away. “Whom shall I get?” she called back. “Weary, if you can--and Slim's a good hand with horses, too.” “Slim--is that the tall, lanky man?” “No--he's the short, fat one. That bean-pole is Shorty.” Miss Whitmore fixed these facts firmly in her memory and ran swiftly to where rose all the dust and noise from the further corral. She climbed up until she could look conveniently over the top rail. The fence seemed to her dreadfully high--a clear waste of straight, sturdy poles. “J. G--e-e-e!” “Baw--h-h-h!” came answer from a wholly unexpected source as a big, red cow charged and struck the fence under her feet a blow which nearly dislodged her from her perch. The cow recoiled a few steps and lowered her head truculently. “Scat! Shoo, there! Go on away, you horrid old thing you! Oh, J. G--e-e-e!” Weary, who was roping, had just dragged a calf up to the fire and was making a loop to catch another when the cow made a second charge at the fence. He dashed in ahead of her, his horse narrowly escaping an ugly gash from her long, wicked horns. As he dodged he threw his rope with the peculiar, back-hand twist of the practiced roper, catching her by the head and one front foot. Straight across the corral he shot to the end of a forty-foot rope tied fast to the saddle horn. The red cow flopped with a thump which knocked all desire for trouble out of her for the time. Shorty slipped the rope off and climbed the fence, but the cow only shook her aching sides and limped sullenly away to the far side of the corral. J. G. and the boys had shinned up the fence like scared cats up a tree when the trouble began, and perched in a row upon the top. The Old Man looked across and espied his sister, wide-eyed and undignified, watching the outcome. “Dell! What in thunder the YOU doing on that fence?” he shouted across the corral. “What in thunder are you doing on the fence, J. G.?” she flung back at him. The Old Man climbed shamefacedly down, followed by the others. “Is that what you call 'getting put in the clear'?” asked she, genially. “I see now--it means clear on the top rail.”