"He's not used to a woman," said Chip, with a certain accent of pride.
"I guess this is the closest he's ever been to one. You see, he's never
had any one handle him but me."

"Then he certainly is no lady's horse," said Miss Whitmore, good-
naturedly. Somehow, in the last moment, her attitude toward Chip
had changed considerably. "Try and make him let me feel the break."

With much coaxing and soothing words it was accomplished, and it did
not take long, for it was a front leg, broken straight across, just
above the fetlock. Miss Whitmore stood up and smiled into the young
man's eyes, conscious of a desire to bring the curve back into his lips.

"It's very simple," she declared, cheerfully. "I know I can cure him.
We had a colt at home with his leg broken the same way, and he was
entirely cured--and doesn't even limp. Of course," she added, honestly,
"Uncle John doctored him--but I helped."

Chip drew the back of his gloved hand quickly across his eyes and
swallowed.

"Miss Whitmore--if you could save old Silver--"

Miss Whitmore, the self-contained young medical graduate, blinked
rapidly and found urgent need of tucking in wind-blown, brown locks,
with her back to the tall cow-puncher who had unwittingly dropped
his mask for an instant. She took off J. G.'s old hat, turned it
clean around twice and put it back exactly as it was before; unless
the tilt over her left ear was a trifle more pronounced. Show me
the woman who can set a hat straight upon her head without aid of