"Certainly I have not been killed yet," was Ruth's mild observation,
pinching Helen's arm to warn her that she was not to quarrel with the
rather caustic lame girl. Mercy's affliction, which still somewhat
troubled her, had never improved her naturally crabbed disposition, and
few of her girl friends had Ruth's patience with her.

"I don't know that I feel much like seeing cowboys rope steers and all
that after seeing that horrid black bull charge our Ruthie," complained
Helen. "Shall we really go to the show?"

"Why! Ruth just told that girl we would," said Jennie.

"I wouldn't miss seeing that Wonota shoot for anything," Ruth declared.

"But there is nobody here to watch the automobile now," went on Helen,
who was more nervous than her chum.

"Yes," Jennie remarked. "Here comes 'Silas Simpkins, the straw-chewing
rube,'" and she giggled.

The farmer was at hand, puffing and blowing. He assured them that "that
critter" was tightly housed and would do no more harm.

"Hope none o' you warn't hurt," he added. "By jinks! that bull is jest
as much excited by this here Wild West Show as I be. Did you pay me for
your ortymobile, young ladies?"

"I most certainly did," said Ruth. "Your bull did not drive all memory
away."