The thing which had been so long hidden in her mind—that secret which had changed Betty so desperately at the end of her schooldays—had risen to the surface again. But she had not gone far when something arose that made Betty wish she had not left Joe Hurley beside the singing river. Her staid old pony began to limp. She was a good rider, but she had not the first idea what to do when a horse went lame, except to get down and relieve the poor creature of her weight. But she was much too far from Canyon Pass to walk and lead the hobbling pony. The wise old cow pony made much of the affliction, and when Betty tried to urge it on the limping horse was a pitiful sight indeed. Betty had never been taught the proper way to pick up a horse’s foot to examine it for a stone in the frog; but the pony lifted the crippled member in such a way that the girl managed to get at it. The stone was there, a sharp-edged flint wedged into the frog, but the girl had no instrument with which to get it out. Fortuitous circumstances do happen elsewhere besides in bald romance. Unlooked-for help appeared in this moment of Betty’s need. She looked up to see Nell Blossom on her cream-colored pony galloping along the wagon track, coming from the direction of Canyon Pass. The cabaret singer glanced at the dismounted girl, nodded, and would have gone right by, but she chanced to see the pony limp on a yard or two. “What’s the matter with that hoss?” demanded Nell, reining in her own pony with both skill and promptness. “Oh, Miss Blossom,” cried Betty, “there’s a stone in his foot, and I can’t get it out.” “Where’s your side partner?” asked Nell, getting slowly down. “That Joe Hurley oughtn’t to let you tenderfoots out of his sight. Not on the open trail.” Betty recognized the measure of scorn in this remark, but she was in no position to resent it. She said as casually as she could: “Mr. Hurley stayed behind for something. He may not even come back this way. I really do not know what to do for the poor creature.” “Meanin’ Joe, or the hoss?” and the blue eyes danced suddenly with mischief. “The poor pony.” “Get the stone out,” Nell said, picking up the pony’s foot. “It is wedged in tightly—that stone.” Nell drew from the pocket of her abbreviated skirt a jackknife that would have delighted the heart of any boy. With an implement in this she removed the stone in a twinkling. “There!” Nell said. “Let him rest here a minute, and he’ll be all right. The old four-flusher! He isn’t hurt a mite, but he’d like to have you think so,” and she slapped the pony resoundingly. “I’m awfully much obliged to you, Miss Blossom.” “No need to be. And no need to call me ‘Miss.’” “Oh—well—Nell, if you like it better,” Betty rejoined with a most disarming smile. “I thank you.” “That’s all right,” said Nell in her brusque, but not altogether unfriendly, way. “I say, Miss Hunt!” Betty interrupted with: “Betty, if you please, Nell.”