anch or a town around here."

"We'll ask this man coming," said Fitz.

The stream had met another, here, and so had the trail; and down the
left-hand trail was riding at a little cow-pony trot a horseman. He was
a cow-puncher. He wore leather chaps and spurs and calico shirt and
flapping-brimmed drab slouch hat. When he reached us he reined in and
halted. He was a middle-aged man, with freckles and sandy mustache.

"Howdy?" he said.

"Howdy?" we answered.

"Ain't seen any Big W cattle, back along the trail, have you?"

No, we hadn't--until suddenly I remembered.

"We saw some about ten days ago, on the other side of the Divide."

"Whereabouts?"

"On a mesa, northwest across the ridge from Dixon Park."

"Good eye," he grinned. "I heard some of our strays had got over into
that country, but I wasn't sure."

We weren't here to talk cattle, though; and Fitz spoke up:

"Where's the nearest ranch, or town?"

"The nearest town is Shenandoah. That's on the railroad about eight
miles yonder. Follow the right-hand trail and you'll come out on a
wagon-road that takes you to it. But there's a ranch three miles up the
valley by this other trail. Sick man?" The cow-puncher had good eyes,
too.

"Yes. We want a doctor."

"Ain't any doctor at Shenandoah. That's nothing but a station and a
store and a couple of houses. I expect the nearest doctor is the one at
the mines."

"Where's that?"

"Fifteen miles into the hills, from the ranch."

"How far is Green Valley?" asked the major, weakly.

"Twenty-three or four miles, by this trail I come along. Same trail you
take to the ranch. No doctor now at Green Valley, though. The one they
had went back East."

"Then you let the Red Fox Scouts take me to the station and put me on
the train for somewhere, and they can catch their own train; and you two
fellows go ahead to Green Valley," proposed the major to Fitz.

"Ain't another train either way till to-morrow morning," said the
cow-puncher. "They meet at Shenandoah, usually--when they ain't late. If
you need a doctor, quickest way would be to make the ranch and ride to
the mines and get him. What's the matter?"

"We don't know, for sure. Appendicitis, we think."

"Wouldn't monkey with it," advised the cow-puncher.

"Then the Red Foxes can hit for the railroad and Fitz and Jim and I'll
make the ranch," insisted the major.

"We won't," spoke up Red Fox Scout Ward, flatly.

"We'll go with you to the ranch. We'll see