“Coyote running is about as good fun as we have,” she told Miss Van Ramsden in answer to a question. “Yes, they’re cowardly critters; but they can run like a streak o’ greased lightning—yes-sir-ree-bob!” Then she began to laugh a little. “I remember once when I was a kid, that I got fooled about coyotes.”
“I’d like to know what you are now,” drawled Hortense, trying to draw attention from her cousin, who was becoming altogether too popular. “And you should know that children are better seen than heard.”
“Let’s see,” said Helen, quickly, “our birthdays are in the same month; aren’t they, ’Tense? I believe mother used to tell me so.”
“Oh, never mind your birthdays,” urged Miss Van Ramsden, while some of the other girls smiled at the repartee. “Let’s hear about your adventure with the coyote, Miss Morrell.”
“Why, ye see,” said Helen, “it wasn’t much. I was just a kid, as I say—mebbe ten year old. Dad had given me a light rifle—just a twenty-two, you know—to learn to shoot with. And Big Hen Billings——”
“Doesn’t that sound just like those dear Western plays?” gasped one young lady. “You know—‘The Squaw Man of the Golden West,’ or ‘Missouri,’ or——”
“Hold on! You’re getting your titles mixed, Lettie,” cried Miss Van Ramsden. “Do let Miss Morrell tell it.”
“To give that child the center of the stage!” snapped Hortense, to Belle.
“I could shake Flossie for bringing her in here,” returned the oldest Starkweather girl, quite as angrily.
“Tell us about your friend, Big Hen Billings,” drawled another visitor. “He does sound so romantic!”