Miss Whitmore fixed these facts firmly in her memory and ran swiftly
to where rose all the dust and noise from the further corral. She
climbed up until she could look conveniently over the top rail. The
fence seemed to her dreadfully high--a clear waste of straight, sturdy
poles.

"J. G--e-e-e!"

"Baw--h-h-h!" came answer from a wholly unexpected source as a big,
red cow charged and struck the fence under her feet a blow which
nearly dislodged her from her perch. The cow recoiled a few steps
and lowered her head truculently.

"Scat! Shoo, there! Go on away, you horrid old thing you! Oh, J.
G--e-e-e!"

Weary, who was roping, had just dragged a calf up to the fire and was
making a loop to catch another when the cow made a second charge at the
fence. He dashed in ahead of her, his horse narrowly escaping an ugly
gash from her long, wicked horns. As he dodged he threw his rope with
the peculiar, back-hand twist of the practiced roper, catching her by
the head and one front foot. Straight across the corral he shot to
the end of a forty-foot rope tied fast to the saddle horn. The red
cow flopped with a thump which knocked all desire for trouble out of
her for the time. Shorty slipped the rope off and climbed the fence,
but the cow only shook her aching sides and limped sullenly away to the
far side of the corral. J. G. and the boys had shinned up the fence
like scared cats up a tree when the trouble began, and perched in a row
upon the top. The Old Man looked across and espied his sister, wide-