the store-house, and, when Andy
saw him there, he dismounted and stood blotting out the light from
the doorway. Chip looked up, said "Hello" carelessly, and flung an old
slicker aside that he might search beneath it. "Back early, aren't you?"
he asked, for sake of saying something.

Andy's attitude was not as casual as he would have had it.

"Say, maybe you better go on up to the house," he began diffidently. "I
guess your wife wants to see yuh, maybe."

"Just as a good wife should," grinned Chip. "What's the matter? Kid fall
off the porch?"

"N-o-o--I brought out a wire from Chicago. It's from a doctor
there--some hospital. The--Old Man got hurt. One of them cussed
automobiles knocked him down. They want you to come."

Chip had straightened up and was hooking at Andy blankly. "If you're
just--"

"Honest," Andy asserted, and flushed a little. "I'll go tell some one to
catch up the team--you'll want to make that 11:20, I take it." He added,
as Chip went by him hastily, "I had the agent wire for sleeper berths on
the 11:20 so--"

"Thanks. Yes, you have the team caught up, Andy." Chip was already well
on his way to the house.

Andy waited till he saw the Little Doctor come hurriedly to the end of
the porch overlooking the pathway, with the telegram fluttering in her
fingers, and then led his horse down through the gate and to the stable.
He yanked the saddle off, turned the tired animal into a stall, and went
on to the corral, where he leaned elbows on a warped rail and peered
through at the turmoil within. Close beside him stood Weary, with his
loop dragging behind him, waiting for a chance to throw it over the head
of a buckskin three-year-old with black mane and tail.

"Get in here and make a hand, why don't you?" Weary bantered, his eye
on the buckskin. "Good chance to make a 'rep' for yourself, Andy.
Gawd greased that buckskin--he sure can slide out from under a rope as
easy--"

He broke off to flip the hoop dexterously forward, had the reward of
seeing the buckskin dodge backward, so that the rope barely flicked him
on the nose, and drew in his rope disgustedly. "Come on, Andy--my hands
are up in the air; I can't land him--that's the fourth throw."

Andy's interest in the buckskin, however, was scant. His face was sober,
his whole attitude one of extreme dejection.

"You got the tummy-ache?" Pink inquired facetiously, moving around so
that he got a fair look at his face.

"Naw--his girl's went back o