Miss Della Whitmore gazed meditatively down the hill at the bunk house.
The boys were all at work, she knew. She had heard J. G. tell two
of them to "ride the sheep coulee fence," and had been consumed with
amazed curiosity at the order. Wherefore should two sturdy young men
be commanded to ride a fence, when there were horses that assuredly
needed exercise--judging by their antics--and needed it badly? She
resolved to ask J. G. at the first opportunity.

The others were down at the corrals, branding a few calves which
belonged on the home ranch. She had announced her intention of going
to look on, and her brother, knowing how the boys would regard her
presence, had told her plainly that they did not want her. He said
it was no place for girls, anyway. Then he had put on a very dirty
pair of overalls and hurried down to help for he was not above lending
a hand when there was extra work to be done.

Miss Della Whitmore tidied the kitchen and dusted the sitting room,
and then, having a pair of mischievously idle hands and a very feminine
curiosity, conceived an irrepressible desire to inspect the bunk house.

J. G. would tell her that, also, was no place for girls, she supposed,
but J. G. was not present, so his opinion did not concern her. She had
been at the Flying U ranch a whole week, and was beginning to feel that
its resources for entertainment--aside from the masculine contingent,
which held some promising material--were about exhausted. She had
climbed the bluffs which hemmed the coulee on either side, had selected
her own private saddle horse, a little sorrel named Concho, and had
made friends with Patsy, the cook. She had dazzled Cal Emmett with her