to the very door of the kitchen, where he swung round and looked
back down the hill snorting triumph.

"Shoo, there!" shrilled the Countess, shaking her dish towel at him.

"Who--oo-oof-f," snorted he disdainfully and trotted leisurely round the
corner.

Chip galloped up the hill, his horse running heavily. After him came
Weary, liberally applying quirt and mild invective. At the house they
parted and headed the fugitive toward the stables. He shot through
the big gate, lifting his heels viciously at the Old Man as he passed,
whirled around the stable and trotted haughtily past Slim into the
corral of his own accord, quite as if he had meant to do so all along.

"Did you ever!" exclaimed the Little Doctor, disgustedly, from her perch.
"Whizzer, I'm ashamed of you! I wouldn't have given in like that--but you
gave them a chase, didn't you, my beauty?"

The boys flung themselves off their tired horses and went up to the
house to beg the Countess for a lunch, and Della turned resolutely to
her sketching again.

She was just beginning to forget that the world held aught but soft
shadows, mellow glow and hazy perspective, when a subdued uproar
reached her from below. She drew an uncertain line or two, frowned
and laid her pencil resignedly in her lap.

"It's of no use. I can't do a thing till those cow-punchers take
themselves and their bronchos off the ranch--and may it be soon!"