"'S very important," Bill continued, "an' I think your father'd consider
me justified in takin' you away fr'm your lessons." Having studied this
matter all out beforehand, Bill was using larger words than usual. "I
got a letter for t' be delivered t' Dan Brayton, up at th' T Up and Down
Ranch, 'bout some business o' your father's. Really, I ought t' go
m'self, an' see Dan pussonally, but I ain't got time. Can't spare any o'
th' men, 'count o' th' roundup's comin' on. Don't see nothin' t' do,
except t' make you th' messenger."

Whitey was delighted. "Where is the T Up and Down?" he asked.

"'Bout a hunderd an' fifteen miles no'thwest o' here, t'other side o'
Zumbro Creek," Bill answered.

"Good!" cried Whitey. "I'll take Injun, and--"

"Wouldn't do that," Bill objected. "Dan hates Injuns, an' he'd sure be
rambunctious 'bout this one."

"All right," Whitey agreed, rather reluctantly. "If I start early
enough, Monty and I ought to make it some time to-morrow night."

If Whitey had been noticing Bill's face at that moment, he would have
seen a rather peculiar smile cross it, but he wasn't. Nor did he suspect
anything the next morning, when he met Bill at the corral before dawn.

"That Monty hoss o' yours seems sort o' lame, this mornin'," said Bill.
"Reck'n one o' th' other cayuses must 'a' kicked him, or somep'n. Dunno
as he c'd stand th' trip."