im laughing. Lee Milligan was scooping sand upon the
other side and mumbling to himself, with a glance now and then at the
trail, in the hope of sighting a good samaritan with six or eight
mules, perhaps. Lee thought that it would take about that many mules
to pull them out.

The two riders pulled up, smiling pityingly, just as well-mounted
riders invariably smile upon stalled automobilists. This was not the
first machine that had come to grief in that hollow, though they could
not remember ever to have seen one sunk deeper in the sand.

"I guess you wouldn't refuse a little help, about now," Lite observed
casually to Lee, who was most in evidence.

"We wouldn't refuse a little, but a lot is what we need," Lee amended
glumly. "Any ranch within forty miles of here? We need about twelve
good horses, I should say." Lee's experience with sand had been
unhappy, and his knowledge of what one good horse could do was slight.

"Shall we snake 'em out, Jean?" Lite asked her, as if he himself were
absolutely indifferent to their plight.

"Oh, I suppose we might as well. We can't leave them blocking the
trail; somebody might want to drive past," Jean told him in much the
same tone, just to tease Lee Milligan, who was looking them over
disparagingly.

"We'll be blocking the trail a good long while if we stay here till you
move us," snapped Lee, who was rather sensitive to tones.

Then Robert Grant Burns gave a heave and a wriggle, and came up for air
and a look around. He had been composing a monologue upon the subject
of sand, and he had not noticed that strange voices were speaking on
the other side of the machine.

"Hello, sis-- How-de-do, Miss," he greeted Jean guardedly, with a
hasty revision of the terms when he saw how her eyebrows pinched
together. "I wonder if you could tell us where we can find teams to
pull us out of this mess. I don't believe this old junk-wagon is ever
going to do it herself."

"How do you do, Mr. Burns? Lite and I offered to take you out on solid
ground, but your man seemed to think we couldn't do it."

"What man was that? Wasn't me, anyway. I think you can do just about
anything you start out to do, if you ask me."

"Thank you," chilled Jean, and permitted Pard to back away from his
approach.

"Say, you're some rider," he praised tactlessly, and got no reply
whatever. Jean merely turned and rode around to where Lite eased his
long legs in the stirrups and waited her plea