"What you doin' that for?" He turned in astonishment. "Let 'em go--I know what I'm about!" "I think you're crazy, but I'll do what you say till I'm sure," Pinkey answered as Wallie continued to lay on the lash. Imperative commands were coming from inside the coach as it tore through the main street. "Let me out of this death-trap!" Old Mr. Penrose's bellow of rage was heard above the chorus of voices demanding that Pinkey stop. But it was not until they were well on the road to the ranch, and Prouty was a speck, that the horses were permitted to slow down; then Pinkey turned and looked at Wallie admiringly. "You shore got a head on you, old pard! We wouldn't 'a' had a dude left if we'd let 'em out while they was mad." "It just occurred to me in time," said Wallie, complacently. "You don't s'pose any of 'em'll slip out and run back?" "No, I think we're all right if nothing more happens between here and the ranch." After a time Pinkey remarked: "That lady with the bad heart--she must 'a' been scairt. I'll bet her lips were purple as a plum, don't you?" But Wallie, who was far more interested in the probable fact that the coach as a source of revenue could no longer be counted on than in the colour of Miss Eyester's lips, mumbled that he didn't know. CHAPTER XIX A SHOCK FOR MR. CANBY The morning following their arrival at The Lolabama, The Happy Family, looking several shades less happy, began coming from their tents shortly after daylight. By five o'clock they were all up and dressed, since, being accustomed to darkened rooms, they found themselves unable to sleep owing to the glare coming through the white canvas. Out of consideration for his guests, whom he remembered as late risers, Wallie had set the breakfast hour at eight-thirty. This seemed an eternity to The Happy Family who, already famished, consulted their watches with increasing frequency while they watched the door of the bunk-house like cats at a mouse-hole for the cook to make his appearance. After a restless night due to strange beds and surroundings, still fatigued with their long journey, their muscles stiff from the "churning" in the stagecoach, they were not better natured for being ferociously hungry. After wandering around to look listlessly at the ponies, and at the salt-water plunge that was to rejuvenate them, they sat down on the edge of the platforms in front of their tents to endure somehow the three hours which must pass before breakfast. The dawn was sweet-scented, the song of the meadow-lark celestial, and the colours of the coming day reflected on the snow-covered peaks a sight to be remembered, but the guests had no eyes or ears or nose for any of the charms of the early morning. The rising of the sun was nothing as compared to the rising of the cook who would appease their savage hunger.