box."

Weary would like to have done so, but already he was half way to the
gate, and his coat was standing straight out behind to prove the speed
of his flight. He could not even look back. He just hung tight to the
box and rode.

The little gray was no racer, but his wind was good; and with urging he
kept the fleeing Glory in sight for a mile or so. Then, horse and
rider were briefly silhouetted against the sunset as they topped a
distant hill, and after that the schoolma'am rode by faith.

At the gate which led into the big Flying U field she overtook them.
Glory, placid as a sheep, was nibbling a frayed end of the rope which
held the gate shut, and Weary, the big box balanced in front of him
across the saddle, was smoking a cigarette.

"Well," greeted Miss Satterly breathlessly, and rather tartly, "only
for you having my dress, I'd have gone straight back home. Do brothers
always act like this?"

"Search me," said Weary, shaking his head. "Anyway, yuh better talk to
Glory about it. He appears to be running this show. When I rode out
to your place, I didn't have any bit in his mouth at all. Coming back,
I've got one of Joe Meeker's teething rings, that wouldn't hold a pet
turkey. But we're going to the dance, Miss Satterly. Don't you worry
none about that."

Miss Satterly laughed and rode ahead of them. "I'm going," she
announced firmly. "It's leap year, and I think I can rustle a partner