"I like you more all th’ time," Bill smiled. "But I ain’t got no plan, except to move." "Now, if they ain’t funny," muttered Jimmy. "If they only knowed what they was runnin’ into!" Bill turned in surprise. "I reckon I ’m easy, but I ’ll bite: what are they runnin’ into?" "I don’t mean th’ Injuns; I mean that wagon," replied Jimmy, nodding to a canvas-covered "schooner" on the opposite hill. "Come here, ’Sylum!" he thundered. Bill wheeled, and smothered a curse when he saw the woman. "Fools!" he snarled. "Don’t let _her_ know," and he was galloping toward the newcomers. "They shore is innercent," soliloquized Jimmy, following. "Just like a baby chasin’ a rattler for to play with it." Bill drew rein at the wagon and removed his sombrero. "Howd’y," he said. "Where you headin’ for?" he asked pleasantly. Tom French shifted the reins. "Sharpsville. And where in—thunder—is it?" His brother stuck his head out through the opening in the canvas. "Yes; where?" "You see, we are lost," explained the woman, glancing from Bill to Jimmy, whose spectacular sliding stop was purely for her benefit, though she knew it not. "We left Logan four days ago and have been wandering about ever since." "Well, you ain’t a-goin’ to wander no more, ma’am," smiled Bill. "We ’re goin’ to Logan an’ we ’ll take you as far as th’ Logan-Sharpsville trail," he said, wondering where it was. "You must ’a’ crossed it without knowin’ it." "Then, thank goodness, everything is all right. We are very fortunate in having met you gentlemen and we will be very grateful to you," she smiled. "You bet!" exclaimed Tom. "But where is Sharpsville?" he persisted. "Sixty miles north," replied Jimmy, making a great effort to stop with the reins what he was causing with his shielded spur. His horse could cavort beautifully under persuasion. "Logan, ma’am," he said, indifferent to the antics of his horse, "is about thirty miles east. You must ’a’ sashayed some to get only this far in four days," he grinned. "And we would be ’sashaying’ yet, if I had n’t found this trail," grunted Tom. There was a sudden disturbance behind his shoulder and the canvas was opened wider. "_You_ found it!" snorted George. "You mean, _I_ found it. Leave it to Mollie if I did n’t! And I told you that you were going wrong. Didn’t I?" he demanded. "Hush, George," chided his sister. "But _did n’t_ I? Did n’t I say we should have followed that moth-eaten road running—er—north?" "Did you?" shouted Tom, turning savagely. "You told me so many fool things I couldn’t pick out those having a flicker of intelligence hovering around their outer edges. _You_ drove two days out of the four, did n’t you?" "Tom!" pleaded Mollie, earnestly. "Oh, let him rave, Sis," rejoined George, and he turned to the punchers. "Friends, I beg thee to take charge of this itinerant asylum and its charming nurse, for the good of our being and the salvation of our souls. Amen."