Ha, he began to see! It was, then, an authenticated something which one emblazoned on what he owned to show that he owned it, like the interrogation point which he branded on his cattle back home? He explained the significance of the name of the distant Queer Question Ranch back in Hellroaring Valley, a name derived from his own whys and why-nots. He’d see what he could do toward authenticating a creditable escutcheon and exhibiting the same to mamma. They had curved around North Meadow, had skirted the silver circle of the receiving reservoir and were approaching The Green, before Pape’s absorption in this self-selected topic was broken. He had cast a surreptitious glance toward a clump of poplars that disputed possession of a hillock with an outcrop of granite. Beneath them he had seen what caused his heart to take one quick flop, then stand still. What next occurred was better understood by Friend Polkadot than Friend Girl. The horse received a knee-pressed signal, the meaning of which was clear, if not the particular reason therefor. Just why Why-Not should wish to rid himself of a riding-mate he had seemed to find so delightful—— However, Dot was enough of a soldier never to argue actual orders. He promptly went lame. And he rather enjoyed doing so. The trick had been dear to him ever since the petting lavished upon him during his recovery from a real injury years ago. He slowed to a stop; up-held his fore-hoof; himself demanded “’tentions.” “What’s matter, old hoss?” Perfect in his part of this play to retire from trail company no longer congenial, the Westerner flung himself off-saddle, accepted and examined the pitiful “paw.” Even when the supposed victim winked and drew back his upper lip in a wide horse grin, there showed no change in the poker face of the Montana man. “Is it a sprain? Does it hurt so much as all that?” Although Irene would doubtless—and justly—have been furious to know it, her concern was the one real factor in the incident. “He may have slipped on that bolt of his back yonder.” Pape wasn’t used even to suggesting lies and his voice sounded as unconvincing to himself as though pitched from the vicinity of Washington Square. “Serve him right if he did. At that, I’m afraid our ride’s ended for to-day. Fortunately——” He paused in a search of the surroundings, presumedly to get their exact bearings; in fact, to convince himself that he had seen what he had seen. “Fortunately the stable I’m using lies just over there on Central Park West.” “And I was just about to propose that we make the reverse round.” Irene pouted like the spoiled child she was. “I’d set my heart on a real sprint between my mare and your cocksure charger. It would have been so sort of symbolic of life to-day, you know—a race of male versus female.” Her heart for horses, however, soon softened in pity for Polkadot. Pape liked her cordially as he hated himself for the endearments and consolations she showered upon that supposed unfortunate.