"Lem, he's all bloody!" exclaimed Columbine, as she ran toward Pronto.

"Hyar, you jest wait," ordered Lem, testily. "Pronto's all cut up, an'
you gotta hustle some linen an' salve."

Columbine flew away to do his bidding, and so quick and violent was she
that when she got back to the corral she was out of breath. Pronto
whinnied as she fell, panting, on her knees beside Lem, who was
examining bloody gashes on the legs of the mustang.

"Wal, I reckon no great harm did," said Lem, with relief. "But he shore
hed a close shave. Now you help me doctor him up."

"Yes--I'll help," panted Columbine. "I've done this kind--of thing
often--but never--to Pronto.... Oh, I was afraid--he'd been gored by
a steer."

"Wal, he come damn near bein'," replied Lem, grimly. "An' if it hedn't
been fer ridin' you don't see every day, why thet ornery Texas steer'd
hev got him."

"Who was riding? Lem, was it you? Oh, I'll never be able to do enough
for you!"

"Wuss luck, it weren't me," said Lem.

"No? Who, then?"

"Wal, it was Wils, an' he made me swear to tell you nuthin'--leastways