"Coyote running is about as good fun as we have," she told Miss Van Ramsden in answer to a question. "Yes, they're cowardly critters; but they can run like a streak o' greased lightning--yes-sir-ree-bob!" Then she began to laugh a little. "I remember once when I was a kid, that I got fooled about coyotes." "I'd like to know what you are now," drawled Hortense, trying to draw attention from her cousin, who was becoming altogether too popular. "And you should know that children are better seen than heard." "Let's see," said Helen, quickly, "our birthdays are in the same month; aren't they, 'Tense? I believe mother used to tell me so." "Oh, never mind your birthdays," urged Miss Van Ramsden, while some of the other girls smiled at the repartee. "Let's hear about your adventure with the coyote, Miss Morrell." "Why, ye see," said Helen, "it wasn't much. I was just a kid, as I say--mebbe ten year old. Dad had given me a light rifle--just a twenty-two, you know--to learn to shoot with. And Big Hen Billings----" "Doesn't that sound just like those dear Western plays?" gasped one young lady. "You know--'The Squaw Man of the Golden West,' or 'Missouri,' or----" "Hold on! You're getting your titles mixed, Lettie," cried Miss Van Ramsden. "Do let Miss Morrell tell it." "To give that child the center of the stage!" snapped Hortense, to Belle. "I could shake Flossie for bringing her in here," returned the oldest Starkweather girl, quite as angrily. "Tell us about your friend, Big Hen Billings," drawled another visitor. "He _does_ sound so romantic!" Helen almost giggled. To consider the giant foreman of Sunset Ranch a romantic type was certainly "going some." She had the wicked thought that she would have given a large sum of money, right then and there, to have had Big Hen announced by Gregson and ushered into the presence of this group of city girls. "Well," continued Helen, thus urged, "father had given me a little rifle and Big Hen gave me a maverick----" "What's that?" demanded Flossie. "Well, in this case," explained Helen, "it was an orphaned calf. Sometimes they're strays that haven't been branded. But in this case a bear had killed the calf's mother in a _coulee_. She had tried to fight Mr. Bear, of course, or he never would have killed her at that time of year. Bears aren't dangerous unless they're hungry." "My! but they look dangerous enough--at the zoo," observed Flossie. "I tell ye," said Helen, reflectively, "that was a pretty calf. And I was little, and I hated to hear them blat when the boys burned them----" "Burned them! Burned little calves! How cruel! What for?" These were some of the excited comments. And in spite of Belle and Hortense, most of the visitors were now interested in the Western girl's narration.