"There is room for more, if you wish," replied Isobel. "But we can send over here for anything you need, any time." "You're not going to let us really rough-it!" complained Mrs. Blake, as her husband swung her to the ground. "Were it not for Thomas Herbert--" "--We'd go to Africa again and eat lions," Blake completed the sentence. "Wait, though--we may have a chance at mountain lions." The porter had gone to help a manservant fetch the trunk from the other end of the car. Isobel untied the saddle horses from the rear of the buckboard. The trunk was lifted in, and Blake lashed it on, together with his level rod and tripod, using Ashton's lariat. "Level is in the trunk," he explained, in response to Ashton's look of inquiry. "I suppose we ride." "I think it will be better if Lafe drives," objected Isobel. "I am so reckless, and you don't know the road, as he does. The only thing is Rocket--Lafe has about trained him out of his tricks. But I should warn you that the hawss has been rather vicious." "Tom will ride him," confidently stated Mrs. Blake. Her husband took the bridle reins of the big horse and mounted him with the agility of a cowboy. For a moment Rocket stood motionless. Then, whether because of Blake's weight or the fact that he was a stranger, all the beast's newly acquired docility vanished. He began to plunge and buck even more violently than when first mounted by Ashton. Half a hundred Stockchuteites--all the residents of the town and several floaters--had come down to inspect the palatial private car and its passengers. At Rocket's first leap these highly interested spectators broke into a murmur of joyful anticipation. They were about to see the millionaire tenderfoot pull leather. Yet somehow the event failed to transpire. Blake sat the flat saddle as if glued fast to it. His knees and legs were crushing against the sides of the leaping, whirling beast with the firmness of an iron vise. He held both hands upraised, away from the "leather." Presently Rocket's efforts began to flag. Instead of seeking to quiet the frantic beast, Blake began to whoop and to strike him with his hat. Thus taunted, Rocket resorted to his second trick. He took the bit in his teeth and started to bolt. The crowd scattered before the rush of the runaway. But they need not have moved. Blake reached down on each side of the beast's outstretched neck and pulled. Tough-mouthed as he was, Rocket could not resist that powerful grip. His head was drawn down and backwards until his trumpet nostrils blew against his deep chest. After half a dozen wild plunges, he was forced to a stand, snorting but subdued. "That's some riding, Miss Chuckie!" called the burly sheriff of the county. "Your guest forks a hawss like a buster."