eady, so we can start ahead of the others. How many minutes
will it take you, Mr. Irish, to have that team here, for us?"

Irish turned red. He HAD thought of a rig, and he had thought of driving
them himself, but he could not imagine how Miss Allen could possibly;
have known his thoughts. Then and there he knew who would occupy the
other half of the front seat, in case he did really drive the team he
had in mind.

"I told you she's a hustler," laughed Miss Hallman. "She'll be raising
bigger crops than you men--give her a year to get started. Well, girls,
come on, then."

They turned abruptly away, and Irish was left to his accounting with the
Happy Family. He had not denied the thoughts and intentions imputed to
him by the twinkling-eyed Miss Allen. They walked on toward the livery
stable--where was manifested an unwonted activity--waiting for Irish to
clear himself; which he did not do.

"You going to drive them women out there?" Pink demanded after an
impatient silence.

"Why not? Somebody'll have to."

"What team are you going to use!" asked Jack Bates.

"Chip's" Irish did not glance around, but kept striding down the middle
of the road with his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

"Don't you think you need help, amigo?" the Native Son insinuated
craftily. "You can't talk to three girls at once; I could be hired to go
along and take one off your hands. That should help some."

"Like hell you will!" Irish retorted with characteristic bluntness. Then
he added cautiously, "Which one?"

"That old girl with the blue eyes should not be permitted to annoy the
driver," drawled the Native Son. "Also, Florence Grace might want some
intelligent person to talk to."

"Well, I got my opinion of any man that'll throw in with that bunch,"
Pink declared hotly. "Why don't you fellows keep your own side the
fence. What if they are women farmers? They can do just as much
harm--and a darn sight more. You make me sick."

"Let 'em go," Weary advised calmly. "They'll be a lot sicker when the
ladies discover what they've helped do to that bench-land. Come on,
boys--let's pull out, away from all these lunatics. I hate to see them
get stung, but I don't see what we can do about it--only, if they come
around asking me what I think of that land, I'm going to tell 'em."

"And then they'll ask you why you took claims up there, and you'll
tell 'em that, too--will you?" The Native Son turned and smiled at him
ironically.

That was it