Despite the buckskin's dancing and cavorting, she mounted, stuck the spurs into him a couple of times, and the ill-mannered pony decided that walking properly was better than bucking. "You're a wonder!" exclaimed Dud Stone, admiringly. "You haven't been West long," she replied, with a smile. "Women folk out here aren't much afraid of horses." "I should say they were not--if you are a specimen." "I'm just ordinary. I spent four school terms in Denver, and I never rode there, so I kind of lost the hang of it." Dud Stone was becoming anxious over another matter. "Are you sure you can find the trail when it's so dark?" he asked. "We're on it now," she said. "I'm glad you're so sure," he returned, grimly. "I can't see the ground, even." "But the ponies know, if I don't," observed Helen, cheerfully. "Nothing to be afraid of." "I guess you think I _am_ kind of a tenderfoot?" he returned. "You're not used to night traveling on the cattle range," she said. "You see, we lay our courses by the stars, just as mariners do at sea. I can find my way to the ranch-house from clear beyond Elberon, as long as the stars show." "Well," he sighed, "this is some different from riding on the bridle-path in Central Park." "That's in New York?" she asked. "Yes." "I mean to go there. It's really a big city, I suppose?" "Makes Denver look like a village," said Stone, laughing to smother a groan. "So father said." "You have people there, I hope?" "Yes. Father and mother came from there. It was before I was born, though. You see, I'm a real Montana product." "And a mighty fine one!" he murmured. Then he said aloud: "Well, as long as you've got folks in the big city, it's all right. But it's the loneliest place on God's earth if one has no friends and no confidants. I know that to be true from what boys have told me who have come there from out of town." "Oh, I've got folks," said Helen, lightly. "How's the foot now?" "Bad," he admitted. "It hangs loose, you see----" "Hold on!" commanded Helen, dismounting. "We've a long way to travel yet. That foot must be strapped so that it will ride easier. Wait!" She handed him her rein to hold and went around to the other side of the Rose pony. She removed her belt, unhooked the empty holster that hung from it, and slipped the holster into her pocket. Few of the riders carried a gun on Sunset Ranch unless the coyotes proved troublesome. With her belt Helen strapped the dangling leg to the saddle girth. The useless stirrup, that flopped and struck the lame foot, she tucked up out of the way. With tender fingers she touched the wounded foot. She could feel the fever through the boot. "But you'd better keep your boot on till we get home, Dud Stone," advised Helen. "It will sort of hold it together and perhaps keep the pain from becoming greater than you can bear. But I guess it hurts mighty bad." "It sure does, Miss Morrell," he returned, grimly. "Is--is the ranch far?"