hy interest in this topic. "We can't wear very fussy things,
though--Bobby sent me the catalogue. Sailor suits for every day, and a
cloth frock for best. And not more than one party dress."

"I asked her when she started," Bob confided to the blank eye of the
white horse now turned dully toward him. "But if she answered me, I
didn't hear."

"I'm going a week from this Friday," announced Betty hastily. "That will
give me a week in Washington, and Mrs. Littell has asked me to stay with
them. I must write to Mrs. Bender to-night and tell her the news; she has
been so anxious for me to go to school again."

"Oh, gee, Betty, that reminds me--" Bob sat up with a jerk and began a
hasty search of his pockets. "When you spoke of Mrs. Bender that reminded
me of Laurel Grove, and Laurel Grove reminded me of Glenside, and that,
of course, made me think of the Guerins--Here 'tis!" and the boy
triumphantly fished out a small letter from an inside pocket of his coat
and tossed it into Betty's lap.

"It's from Norma Guerin!" Betty's expressive voice betrayed her
delight "Why, I haven't heard from her in perfect ages. I wonder what
she has to say."

"Open it and see," advised the practical Bob. "I meant to give you the
letter right away, and first the tart and then the blouse thing-a-bub
drove it out of my mind. I'll lead the horses and you can read as we
walk. Want me to take the plate back to Lee Chang?"

He dashed back to the bunk house, returned the tin, and rejoined Betty,
who was slowly slitting the envelope of her letter with a hairpin. She
had tucked her candy box under her arm, and Bob took the bridles of the
two horses.

"Mercy, what was that?" Betty glanced up startled, as a wild yell sounded
over on their right.

There was a chorus of shouts, the same wild yell repeated, and then,
sudden and without warning, came a dense and heavy rain of blackest oil.

"Oh, Bob, Bob!" There was genuine anguish in Betty's wail of appeal. "My
new blouse--look at it!"

But Bob had no time to look at anything. Action was to be his course.

"It's a premature blast!" he shouted. "Come on, we've got to get out!"

CHAPTER II

NORMA'S LETTER

This was not Betty Gordon's first experience with an oil well set
off prematurely, and while she was naturally excited, she was not at
all afraid.

"Get on Clover!" shouted Bob. "I do wish you'd ever wear a hat--"

Betty laughed a little as she scrambled into her saddle. Bob, mountin