“He’s scared to death of mice,” Roy said, a wide grin on his face. “When I heard him talking about serving them to the punchers, I thought I’d try a little kidding myself. He’s got a trap back there that he catches the mice in, so I took one out and put it in his fiddle-box.” “Poor old Sing Lung! I don’t think much of your joke!” declared Belle Ada. “You’d better tell him the danger’s over, or he’ll go through the roof,” Mr. Manley declared, with a chuckle. “Teddy, you go in and bring him out, will you? Say Roy chased the mouse away.” While the others--all but Belle Ada--looked on in amusement, Teddy braved the storm of cyclonic, oriental language and entered the cook house. “All right, Sing Lung,” they heard him say. “Mouse gone. You can come down now.” Then, in an aside to the others: “Golly, he’s crawled onto a shelf and curled up!” Reverting to English for a moment, the cook screamed: “All lite! All lite! You say all lite when little lat he inside my fi’il? I no clazy! All lite! Ha! Maybe you puttee little lat in fi’il, hey?” “It wasn’t a rat, it was a mouse, Sing Lung, and it’s gone now. So come on down.” “You say so--yes?” “Yes, I say so. Come on down.” The cook descended cautiously to the floor and looked about him. Finding that the mouse was not in sight, he blew on his finger tips and, with a grin on his face, went to the door. “She’s gone, I guess,” he said calmly. “Me no like ’um. Poison! Now, you, li’l Belle, you hand me fi’il; yes?” “He knows if you give it to him, there won’t be any mice in it,” Mr. Manley laughed. “Go ahead, Belle Ada, give it to him.” With a smile, Belle picked up the case, and, taking the queer-looking instrument out, she handed the two-stringed Chinese fiddle to Sing Lung. He took it gingerly, and, after receiving the bow, got ready to play. “Now you’ll hear some real laundry music,” Roy said in a low voice to Nell. “Don’t laugh. Make believe you like it,” he warned. Sing Lung slowly drew the bow across the strings. He evoked a peculiar, wailing noise, more akin to a sick cat on the back fence than to anything else to which the girls had ever listened, so they said later. There was a sudden interruption. The sound of a rapidly approaching horse was heard, and all looked up in surprise. Gus Tripp was riding toward them, his steed in a lather. As he came closer Mr. Manley noticed that Gus slumped oddly in his saddle. At the sight the cattle owner ran quickly forward. Gus held up his right arm in a mute gesture. From his fingers blood was dripping! CHAPTER XV PLANNING A DANCE “Gus!” exclaimed Mr. Manley. “What happened?” Teddy and Roy looked anxiously at the rider. “Had a little accident, boss,” Gus replied, a wry smile on his somewhat pale face. “Mebby if you an’ I was to take a little walk--” Mr. Manley nodded quickly, understandingly, and turned to the girls. “Belle Ada,” he said swiftly, “suppose you show Nell an’ Ethel the garden? I know they’d like to see it.”