“Great snakes, young lady, what's happened?” gasped Mr. O'Rourke. “Three brutes and a man have been killed” she replied. “What the--who--who's that feller? Are you--” “Don't ask questions, Borax. I am not hurt, but I have no time to answer questions. Please remove that car-stake and replace the velocipede on the tracks.” Her cool demeanor, despite her tears, her terse commands, indicating a plan for prompt action of some kind, flabbergasted Borax to such an extent that he commenced to swear very fluently, without for a moment realizing that there was a lady present. And just at this juncture Harley P. Hennage arrived. As might be expected, Harley P. wasted no time catering to the call of curiosity. “Let me have him, Miss Donna,” he ordered. “We'll put him on the velocipede and rush him up to the hotel. I'll--” “No, Mr. Hennage. He belongs to me. Place him on the velocipede and help me take him home.” “To the Hat Ranch?” “Yes, of course, I can care for him there, if he lives.” “Why, Miss Donna--” “Do it, please” she commanded. “I know best. Set him on the little platform and tie his legs to the reach. Then stand behind him to work the lever, and let him rest against your knees. I'll follow with the horse.” “Remarkable! Very remarkable!” soliloquized the big gambler. Without further ado he proceeded to carry out Donna's orders. “Borax,” Donna continued, “you run up to the drug store and tell Doc Taylor what's happened. I'll send Sam Singer back with the velocipede for him.” She gathered the reins in her left hand and swung aboard Friar Tuck. Harley P., having disposed of his gory burden on the limited accommodations of the track velocipede, seized the levers and trundled away, followed by Donna on Friar Tuck, cautiously picking his way between the ties. Borax O'Rourke stood for a moment, gazing after them. “She acts like a mother cat with a kitten” he muttered. “Damned if she wasn't kissin' the feller--an' him a stranger in town!” He walked rapidly back to San Pasqual, and such was his perturbation that he sought to have “Doc” Taylor unravel the puzzle for him. “Hysterics” was the doctor's explanation. “Rats” retorted O'Rourke. “All right, then. It's rats.” The doctor grabbed his emergency grip and departed on the run for the Hat Ranch. Sam Singer met him half-way with the velocipede. O'Rourke returned to the Silver Dollar saloon where, since he was a vulgarian and a numbskull, he retailed his story to the loungers there assembled. “I'll never git over the sight o' that girl a-kissing that young feller” he concluded. “Why, I'd down a hobo every mornin' before breakfast if I knowed for certain she'd treat _me_ that-a-way for doin' it.” The situation was canvassed at considerable length, and only the entrance of the constable with a request, for volunteers to help him remove the “remainders” that were littering up the right of way below town, served to turn the conversation into other channels.