As Chip raced away over the prairie, he discovered a new and puzzling kink in his temper. He had been angry with the Little Doctor for coming, but it was nothing to the rage he felt when she turned back! He did not own to himself that he wanted her beside him to taunt and to hurt with his rudeness, but it was a fact, for all that. And it was a very surly young man who rode into the Denson corral and threw a loop over the head of the runaway. CHAPTER IX. -- Before the Round-up. “The Little Doctor wants us all to come up t' the White House this evening and have some music,” announced Cal, bursting into the bunk house where the boys were sorting and packing their belongings ready to start with the round-up wagon in the morning. Jack Bates hurriedly stuffed a miscellaneous collection of socks and handkerchiefs into his war bag and made for the wash basin. “I'll just call her bluff,” he said, determinedly. “It ain't any bluff; she wants us t' come, er you bet she wouldn't say so. I've learned that much about her. Say, you'd a died to seen old Dunk look down his nose! I'll bet money she done it just t' rasp his feelin's--and she sure succeeded. I'd go anyway, now, just t' watch him squirm.” “I notice it grinds him consider'ble to see the Little Doctor treat us fellows like white folks. He's workin' for a stand-in there himself. I bet he gets throwed down good and hard,” commented Weary, cheerfully. “It's a cinch he don't know about that pill-thrower back in Ohio,” added Cal. “Any of you fellows going to take her bid? I'll go alone, in a minute.” “I don't think you'll go alone,” asserted Jack Bates, grabbing his hat. Slim made a few hasty passes at his hair and said he was ready. Shorty, who had just come in from riding, unbuckled his spurs and kicked them under his bed. “It'll be many a day b'fore we listen t' the Little Doctor's mandolin ag'in,” croaked Happy Jack. “Aw, shut up!” admonished Cal. “Come on, Chip,” sang out Weary. “You can spoil good paper when you can't do anything else. Come and size up the look on Dunk's face when we take possession of all the best chairs and get t' pouring our incense and admiration on the Little Doctor.” Chip took the cigarette from his lips and emptied his lungs of smoke. “You fellows go on. I'm not going.” He bent again to his eternal drawing. “The dickens you ain't!” Weary was too astounded to say more. Chip said nothing. His gray hat-brim shielded his face from view, save for the thin, curved lips and firm chin. Weary studied chin and lips curiously, and whatever he read there, he refrained from further argument. He knew Chip so much better than did anyone else. “Aw, what's the matter with yuh, Splinter! Come on; don't be a chump,” cried Cal, from the doorway. “I guess you'll let a fellow do as he likes about it, won't you?” queried Chip, without looking up. He was very busy, just then, shading the shoulders of a high-pitching horse so that one might see the tense muscles.