tobacco sack shut with his teeth. His eyes were fixed reflectively upon
the bed. He placed the sack absently in his pocket, still meditating
other things.

"She answered: 'We are seven,'" he quoted softly and solemnly, and
the Little Doctor forgot her faintness in a hearty laugh.

"You two go back to your dancing now," she commanded, letting the dimples
stand in her cheeks in a way that Chip dreamed about afterward. "I don't
know what I should have done without you--a cow-puncher seems born to meet
emergencies in just the right way. PLEASE don't tell anyone, will you?"

"Never. Don't you worry about us, Doctor. Chip and I don't set up
nights emptying our brains out our mouths. We don't tell our secrets
to nobody but our horses--and they're dead safe."

"You needn't think I'll tell, either," said the Countess, earnestly.
"I ain't forgot how you took the blame uh that sof' soap, Dell. As
the sayin' is--"

Weary closed the door then, so they did not hear the saying which seemed
to apply to this particular case. His arm hooked into Chip's, he led
the way through the kitchen and down the hill to the hay corral. Once
safe from observation, he threw himself into the sweetly pungent "blue-
joint" and laughed and laughed.

Chip's nervous system did not demand the relief of cachinnation. He
went away to Silver's stall and groped blindly to the place where two
luminous, green moons shone upon him in the darkness. He rubbed the
delicate nose gently and tangled his fingers in the dimly gleaming mane,