"Did Mr. Lang say why he had not called here to see us?" asked
Grace.

"No, he didn't say much of anything. He is not of the saying kind.
I suppose he expected you to look him up. Besides, he is very busy
getting ready for you, I could see that. If you are ready we will
go over to the corral now."

"Where did you leave Hippy?" asked Miss Briggs.

"Talking horse with the owner of the ponies," Grace's husband
informed her, whereat both girls smiled understandingly, knowing
quite well that Hippy Wingate was posing as an expert on horses,
whereas about all the knowledge he possessed in that direction had
been gained from the ride over the Apache Trail during the
previous summer.

Tom led the two girls to the corral at the extreme edge of the
little western village. Anne, Emma and Nora already had found
their way there and were watching the wranglers, as the men who
catch up the ponies are called, roping broncos and leading them
out for the inspection of Lieutenant Wingate and the guide.

"My, but they are a lively bunch," exclaimed Miss Briggs.

The roped ponies were bucking and squealing and biting and
kicking. A suffocating gray cloud of alkali dust hung over the
corral, and, altogether, the scene was not only exciting, but it
stirred feelings of alarm in some of Grace Harlowe's Overland