hat had the
appearance of being unfinished. Neither nose nor mouth nor chin seemed
to be quite definite enough.

She choked down her gayety and offered renewed apologies.

"I was going for a doc," he explained, by way of opening his share of
the conversation.

"Then perhaps you had better jump in with me and ride back to the Lazy
D. I suppose that's where you came from?"

He scratched his vivid head helplessly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then jump in."

"I was going to Bear Creek, ma'am," he added dubiously.

"How far is it?"

"'Bout twenty-five miles, and then some."

"You don't expect to walk, do you?"

"No; I allowed--"

"I'll take you back to the ranch, where you can get another horse."

"I reckon, ma'am, I'd ruther walk."

"Nonsense! Why?"

"I ain't used to them gas wagons."

"It's quite safe. There is nothing to be afraid of."

Reluctantly he got in beside her, as happy as a calf in a branding pen.

"Are you the lady that sashaid off with Ned Bannister?" he asked
presently, after he had had time to smother successively some of his
fear, wonder and delight at their smooth, swift progress.

"Yes. Why?"

"The boys allow you hadn't oughter have done it." Then, to place the
responsibility properly on shoulders broader than his own, he added:
"That's what Judd says."

"And who is Judd?"

"Judd, he's the foreman of the Lazy D."

Below them appeared the corrals and houses of a ranch nestling in a
little valley flanked by hills.

"This yere's the Lazy D," announced the youth, with pride, and in the
spirit of friendliness suggested a caution. "Judd, he's some peppery.
You wanter smooth him down some, seeing as he's riled up to-day."

A flicker of steel came into the blue eyes. "Indeed! Well, here we are."

"If it ain't Reddy, AND the lady with the flying machine," murmured a
freckled youth named McWilliams, emerging from the bunkhouse with a pan
of water which had been used to bathe the wound of one of the punctured
combatants.

"What's that?" snapped a voice from within; and immediately its owner
appeared in the doorway and bored with narrowed black eyes the young
woman in the machine.

"Who are you?" he demanded, brusquely.

"Your target," she answered, quietly. "Would you like to take another
shot at me?"

The freckled lad broke out into a gurgle of laughter, at which the
black, swarthy man beside him wheeled round in a rage. "What you
cacklin' at, Mac?" he demanded, in a low voice.

"Oh, t