ter riding behind
them. He flushed, but smiled, too; and his eyes were dancing.

"Oh, Sue!" he exclaimed. "Here is Frances now."

So this was Sue Latrop--the girl from Boston. Frances looked at her
keenly as she turned to look at the Western girl.

"My dear! Fancy! So glad to know you," she said, handling her horse
remarkably well with one hand and putting out her right to Frances.

The latter urged Molly nearer. But the pinto was not on her good
behavior this morning. She had been too badly treated at the corral.

Molly shook her head, danced sideways, wheeled, and finally collided
with Pratt's grey pony. The latter squealed and kicked. Instantly,
Molly's little heels beat a tattoo on the grey's ribs.

"Hello!" exclaimed Pratt, recovering his seat and pulling in the grey.
"What's the matter with that horse, Frances?"

Molly was off like a rocket. Frances fairly stood in the stirrups to
pull the pinto down--and she was not sparing of the quirt. It angered
her that Molly should "show off" just now. She had heard Sue Latrop's
shrill laugh.

When she rode back Frances did not offer to shake hands with the Boston
girl. And, as it chanced, she never did shake hands with her.

"You ride such perfectly ungovernable horses out here," drawled the
Boston girl. "Is it just for show?"

"Our ponies are not usually family pets," laughed Frances. Yet she
flushed, and from that moment she was always expecting Sue to say
cutting things.

"They tell me it is so interesting to see the calves--er--monogrammed;
do you call it?" said Sue, with a little cough.

"Branded!" exclaimed Pratt, hurriedly.

"Oh, yes! So interesting, I suppose?"

"We do not consider it a show," said Frances, bluntly. "It is a
necessary evil. I never fancied the smell of scorched hair and hide
myself; and the poor creatures bawl so. But branding and slitting their
ears are the only ways we have of marking the cattle."

"Re'lly?" repeated Sue, staring at her as though Frances were more
curious than the bawling cattle.

The irons were already in the fire when the party rode down to the scene
of the branding. Silent Sam was in charge of the gang. They had rounded
up nearly two hundred calves and yearlings. Some of the cows had
followed their off-spring out of the herd, and were lowing at the corral
fence.

Afoot and on horseback the men drove the half-wild calves into the
branding pen runway. As they came through they were roped and thrown,
and Sam