“Good-bye, flowers!” shouted Teddy Manley, and ran closer to the scene of impending disaster with a vague notion of doing something to stop the onrushing monster. But as he took another look at the murderous knives, he slowed up and halted. It was hopeless even to think of causing Hortense to hesitate. Mrs. Ball, attracted by the noise, rushed out to the porch, followed by the three girls. When she saw the machine bearing down upon her precious lilies, she let out a shriek of dismay. “Stop it, somebody! Stop it! My flowers!” “Might as well try to stop a herd of wild elephants!” Roy yelled. “Bug Eye, can’t you--” he turned toward the puncher. To his surprise Bug Eye had vanished. “Where in thunder is that bucker?” he called. “Bug Eye! Come out here!” By this time Hortense had approached to within ten feet of the flower bed. Mrs. Ball leaned over the railing, calling frantically for someone to do something. “My lilies! My lovely lilies,” she groaned. “Can’t you stop that thing? Bug Eye! Where--” “Comin’, ma’am!” Teddy and Roy swung around toward the bunkhouse. They saw a figure burst through the door, arms waving. It was the missing puncher. “I’ll stop her or bust!” he exclaimed. “Get ready, boys. You gotta’ help me pull!” Then they saw the reason of his haste. In his hand he held a lariat, and as he ran he began whirling it about his head. “Yip-ee! Go get him!” Teddy shouted, and sprang after Bug Eye. “Rope ’er, cowboy!” Faster and faster spun the rope. Now it was making a perfect circle over the running punchers. “Toss it! Be too late in a second!” Roy exclaimed. But Bug Eye knew his business. Just at the moment when Hortense was about to fall upon the flowers and grind them under her flashing knives, the bucker threw. Like a striking rattlesnake the rope snapped forward, and the loop settled hungrily full about the raised motor. “Yay! He made it! Grab hold, Roy! Yank!” Yank they did. Three pair of well-muscled arms seized the rope and pulled. The lariat jerked taut. Hortense, on the very edge of the flower bed, was halted. She seemed to pause uncertainly, as though an unwelcome stranger had tapped her on the shoulder. Then, with a protesting roar, she reared on her hind wheels and fell over backwards. “Yow! Hog tie her, Bug Eye! Three seconds flat! That’s first prize, sure!” Like some giant bug, Hortense lay on her back with her wheels spinning madly. Her roar gradually sank lower and lower. She coughed once--twice, trembled in the throes of a death struggle, and yielded up the ghost. The flowers were saved. Bug Eye, his face drawn into lines of despair, contemplated the wrecked machine. Then he sighed. “She’s done for,” he said sadly. “Poor Hortense! Just temperament, that’s all ailed her!” “Just--just--” Roy stuttered, and choked. “She was only eccentric, Bug Eye! That’s all! Poor--” “Bug Eye Wilson, come here!” Mrs. Ball, her head thrust forward, stood on the steps. “Come here to me!”