er of hoofs.

She gave voice to the long range yell, and a dozen anxious punchers
replied. Great discussion had arisen over where she could have gone, for
nobody had seen her ride off toward the View that afternoon.

"Whar you been, gal?" demanded Big Hen Billings, bringing his horse to a
sudden stop across the trail. "Hul-_lo!_ What's that you got with yer?"

"A tenderfoot. Easy, Hen! I've got his leg strapped to the girth. He's in
bad shape," and she related, briefly, the particulars of the accident.

Dudley Stone had only a hazy recollection later of the noise and confusion
of his arrival. He was borne into the house by two men--one of them the
ranch foreman himself.

They laid him on a couch, cut the boot from his injured foot, and then the
sock he wore.

Hen Billings, with bushy whiskers and the frame of a giant, was
nevertheless as tender with the injured foot as a woman. Water with a
chunk of ice floating in it was used to reduce the swelling. The foreman's
blunted fingers probed for broken bones.

But it seemed there was none. It was only a bad sprain, and they finally
stripped him to his underclothes and bandaged the foot with cloths soaked
with ice water.

When they got him into bed--in an adjoining room--the young mistress of
Sunset Ranch reappeared, with a tray and napkins, with which she arranged
a table.

"That's what he wants--some good grub under his belt, Snuggy," said the
gigantic foreman, finally lighting his pipe. "He'll be all right in a few
days. I'll send word to Creeping Ford for one of the boys to ride down to
Badger's and tell 'em. That's where Mr. Stone says he's been stopping."

"You're mighty kind," said the Easterner, gratefully, as Sing, the Chinese
servant, shuffled in with a steaming supper.

"We're glad to have a chance to play Good Samaritan in this part of the
country," said Helen, laughing. "Isn't that so, Hen?"

"That's right, Snuggy," replied the foreman, patting her on the shoulder.

Dud Stone looked at Helen curiously, as the big man strode out of the
room.

"What an odd name!" he commented.

"My father called me that, when I was a tiny baby," replied the girl. "And
I love it. All my friends call me 'Snuggy.' At least, all my ranch
friends."

"Well, it's too soon for me to begin, I suppose?" he said, laughing.

"Oh, quite too soon," returned Helen, as composedly as a person twice her
age. "You had better stick to 'Miss Morrell,' and remember that I am the
mis