Jane ate but little, and again shut herself up in her room for all that afternoon. Dan was almost as glad as were the children that she was to go back to the East, but Jane, strangely enough, was deeply hurt because her brother, who had been her playmate when they were little, and her pal in later years, had actually chosen the younger children in preference to herself. That proved how much he really cared for _her_ and, as for his health, he seemed to be recovering remarkably. He had coughed a while the evening before, and for a shorter time that morning. Then he had evidently been on a long hike. Of all that had happened Dan had said nothing, knowing that Jane would not wish to hear about the mountain girl, toward whom she felt so unkindly. That afternoon Dan gave the children another lesson at shooting cones from an old pine, far enough from the cabin to keep from disturbing Jane. Julie grew braver as she watched Gerald's success, and at last she too tried, and when, after many failures, she sent a brown cone spinning, she leaped about wild with joy. "Now we are both sharpshooters," Gerald cried generously. Then, glancing over at the cabin, he added: "There's Jane sitting out on the porch. She does look sort of sick, doesn't she?" Dan's heart was touched when he saw the forlorn attitude of the sister he so loved. "You youngsters amuse yourselves for a while," he suggested, "I want to have a quiet talk with Jane." Dan neglected to tell the children not to wander away. CHAPTER XVII. QUEER KITTENS Left alone, Julie and Gerald scrambled to the road and looked both up and down. "Which way will we go?" Julie inquired. "We've been down--or, I mean, we've been up the down road." Then the boy laughed. "Aw, gee! You know what I mean. We came up the road yesterday in the stage; so now, let's go on further up." Julie hopped about, clapping her hands gleefully. "Ohee, I know what! Let's see if we can find that cabin the innkeeper lady said was about a mile up the mountain road from our place. Wouldn't that be fun? And maybe that nice girl will be at home from school, and, if she is, I just know she'll let me ride her pony." Gerald, nothing loath, fell into step by his sister's side, the gun over his shoulder. After the fashion of small brothers, he could not resist teasing. "I bet you couldn't stay on that pony, however hard you tried. It's a wild Western broncho sort, like those we saw at Madison Square Garden that time Dad took us to Buffalo Bill's big circus." Then, in a manner which seemed to imply that he did not wish to boast, he added: "I sort of think I could ride it easy. Boys get the knack, seems like, without half trying." They had rounded the bend and were nearing the very spot where the mountain girl had shot the lion, when Julie clutched her brother's arm and drew him back, whispering excitedly: "Gerry! Hark! What's that noise I hear?"