id I," asserted Cheyenne, and he spoke sharply to his horse.

Dorothy flushed. "Cheyenne, I rode over to find Jimmy. You needn't--Oh,
there's Aunt Jane now! And there's Jimmy, and the corral is full of
horses!"

"Reckon we better step along," and Cheyenne put Steel Dust to a lope.

CHAPTER XV

MORE PONY TRACKS

Summoned from the west end of the ranch, where he had been irrigating
the alfalfa, Uncle Frank arrived at the house just as Cheyenne and
Dorothy rode up. Little Jim was excitedly endeavoring to explain to Aunt
Jane how the corral came to be filled with strange horses.

Uncle Frank nodded to Cheyenne and turned to Jimmy. "Where you been?"

"I was over on the mountain."

"How did these horses get here?"

Uncle Frank's eye was stern. Jimmy hesitated. He had been forbidden to
go near Sneed's place; and he knew that all that stood between a harness
strap and his small jeans was the presence of Dorothy and Cheyenne. It
was pretty tough to have recovered the stolen horses single-handed, and
then to take a licking for it.

Little Jim gazed hopefully at his father.

"Why, I was chousin' around up there," he explained, "and I seen dad's
hosses, and--and I started 'em down the trail and the whole blame bunch
followed 'em. They was travelin' so fast I couldn't cut 'em out, so I
just let 'em drift. Filaree and Josh just nacherally headed for the
corral and the rest followed 'em in."

Uncle Frank gazed sternly at Jimmy. "Who told you to help your father
get his horses?"

"Nobody."

"Did your Aunt Jane tell you you could go over to the mountain?"

"I never asked her."

"You trot right into the house and stay there," said Uncle Frank.

Little Jim cast an appealing glance at Cheyenne and walked slowly toward
the house, incidentally and unconsciously rubbing his hand across his
jeans with a sort of anticipatory movement. He bit his lip, and the
tears started to his eyes. But he shook them away, wondering what he
might do to avert the coming storm. Perhaps his father would interpose
between him and the dreaded harness strap. Yet Jimmy knew that his
father had never interfered when a question of discipline arose.

Suddenly Little Jim's face brightened. He marched through the house to
the wash bench, and, unsolicited, washed his hands and face and soaped
his hair, after which he slicked it down carefully, so that there might
be no mistake about his having brushed and combed it. He rather hoped
that