“Reilly,” said Mr. Carteret, “is the horse superintendent of Buffalo Bill’s show. You see Buffalo Bill is the neighbor to whom I cabled.” “Then--” began Lady Withers, but the Major interrupted her. “Does this mean,” he demanded, “that I have bought a stolen horse?” “It means,” said Mr. Carteret, “that if you will accept an American horse from Mr. Barclay and myself, we shall be very much flattered.” “Really,--” said the Major. He began to enter upon one of his discourses, but stopped as he saw that neither Mr. Carteret nor Barclay was listening. Instead, they were trying to make out the brand on the creature in the box-stall. “I can see the end of the arrow,” said Mr. Carteret. “This is Smallpox. Where is the bad one--Hospital?” “Where is the other one?” asked Lady Withers of a stable-boy. “In the back stable yard, your Ladyship,” said the boy. “Lady Mary is riding him.” Each one of the four looked at the other speechless with horror. “Lady Mary!” gasped the Major. Mr. Carteret and Barclay started for the back stable yard, but Barclay got there first. As he was opening the gate, Mr. Carteret caught up. “Keep your head,” he observed. There were sounds of hoof-beats, exclamations from grooms and other indications of battle. They went in and saw Lady Mary sitting on the back of a creature rather more hairy and unpleasant-looking than Smallpox. Her face was pink with exertion, but otherwise she looked as neat, unruffled, and slim as she always did in the saddle. Hospital had paused, panting, and was trying to look at her out of the back of his eyes in sour wonder. He was not defeated. He was merely surprised that his preliminary exhibition had not left him alone with the saddle. When there was only the saddle to get rid of he usually got down to business and “bucked some,” as they say in Western regions. Lady Mary nodded as they entered, and her lips parted in a little smile. “Good morning,” said Mr. Carteret. He saw that the situation was serious and fraught with difficulties. And there was no time to be lost. “I’ve something extremely important to tell you,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Will you be good enough to get your leg well clear of the pommel and slip off that horse?” “Well, really,” said the girl, laughing, “it is so unpleasant getting on that I should rather you told me as I am.” “I will explain afterward,” said Mr. Carteret, “but you would oblige me very much by slipping off that horse immediately.” The girl looked at him. “I see through you,” she said, “you are afraid I’ll get bucked off.” “It would be no disgrace,” he answered; “you are not sitting on a horse, but on an explosion.”