n from the
thicket to see if they were right. Yes, there was Virginia, with Pedro
still in the lead, and two men on horseback behind her. She had luckily
met them a mile this side of Michner's, and hurried them back with her.
The cow boy had again raised himself, as they rode up to him and
dismounted. He was better, for he could look sheepish! This being thrown
from one's horse was a foolish thing!

They would stay with him, the men said. They knew him well. He was called
"Scrapes" at Michner's because he was always getting into trouble. This
last was the worst yet. They would camp there that night, and in the
morning he could ride home, they felt sure. They were grateful to the
girls. Scrapes was a likeable chap, and no one wanted him hurt.

But Scrapes himself was the most grateful. He staggered to his feet as
Vivian went up to tell him good-by and shook hands with her, and then with
Virginia. But his eyes were for Vivian.

"You're the best tenderfoot I ever knew, miss," he said. "You was sure
some good sport to take care o' me. Would you take my quirt? It's bran
new, and I made it all myself. Get it off my horn, Jim. Yes, I want you to
have it. Good-by!"

"Scrapes is right," said Virginia, as they left the thicket and started
homeward. "I said a while ago that you were getting to be one, Vivian, but
now I know you've got there--for sure!"

CHAPTER XIX

CARVER STANDISH III FITS IN

Carver Standish III hated the world, himself, and everybody else--at
least, he thought he did. In fact, he had been so sure of it all day that
no one had attempted any argument on the subject. Jack, unable to maneuver
a fishing-trip and secretly glad of an escape, had ridden over to Mary
with some much-needed mending; Donald had been glad to ride on the range
on an errand for his father; Mr. Keith was in town; the whereabouts of
Malcolm could easily be guessed.

Carver, in white trousers and a crimson Gordon sweater, was idly roaming
about the ranch in search of any diversion which might present itself, and
which did not require any too much exertion. For two weeks and more things
had not been going well with him. His stay in Wyoming was not closing so
happily as it had begun--all due, he admitted to himself, to a missed
opportunity. For had he seized the chance when it was given him on the
morning after that disastrous night on the mountain, and taken the laugh
he had so richly deserved, by now the incident, like Vivian's