ver worse places; I held him to it without mercy. He laid
back his ears, then, and went over--and his hind feet caught the top wire
and snapped it like thread. I heard it hum through the air, and I heard
those behind me shout as though something unlooked-for had happened.
I turned, saw them gathered on the other side looking after me blankly, and
I waved my hat airily in farewell and went on about my business.

[Illustration: "His hind feet caught the top wire and snapped it like
thread."]

I felt that they would scarcely chase me the whole twelve or fifteen miles
of the pass, and I was right; after I turned the first bend I saw them no
more.

At camp I was received with much astonishment, particularly when Ballard
saw that I had brought an answer to his note.

"Yuh must 'a' rode King's Highway," he said, looking at me much as Perry
Potter had done the night before.

I told him I did, and the boys gathered round and wanted to know how I did
it. I told them about jumping the fence, and my conceit got a hard blow
there; with one accord they made it plain that I had done a very foolish
thing. Range horses, they assured me, are not much at jumping, as a rule;
and wire-fences are their special abhorrence. Frosty Miller told me, in
confidence, that he didn't know which was the bigger fool, Shylock or me,
and he hoped I'd never be guilty of another trick like that.

That rather took the bloom off my adventure, and I decided, after much
thought, that I agreed with Frosty: King's Highway was bad medicine.
I amended that a bit, and excepted Beryl King; I did not think she was "bad
medicine," however acid might be her flavor.

CHAPTER VI.

I ask Beryl King to Dance.

If I were just yarning for the fun there is in it, I should say that I was
back in King's Highway, helping Beryl King gather posies and brush up her
repartee, the very next morning--or the second, at the very latest. As a
matter of fact, though, I steered clear of that pass, and behaved myself
and stuck to work for six long weeks; that isn't saying I never thought
about her, though.

On the very last day of June, as nearly as I could estimate, Frosty rode
into Kenmore for something, and came back with that in his eyes that boded
mischief; his words, however, were innocent enough for the most
straight-laced.

"There's things doing in Kenmore," he remarked to a lot of us. "Old King
has a party of aristocrats out from New York, visiting--Terence Weav