“All out now,” Jean called. “And we’d better run to keep up the circulation. Next time we’ll bring down the swimming suits, and kimonos, and dress here. It’s too long a trip in wet clothes.”
Up the path they went, dripping wet, and radiant with health and happiness.
“Hurry up and dress, girls,” Jean said, as they came to the guest cabin. “After breakfast, we’ll ride over the other way towards the sheep range, and you’ll have a chance to look them over.”
“Oh, look down there at Don,” cried Peggie, suddenly, and the next minute she was flying as fast as her feet could carry her towards the corral.
“Head him off, Peg, head him off,” shouted Don. “Not that way, over here. Oh, suffering cats, look at that!”
“He’s making a bee line for the bars, Don; I can’t stop him,” Peggie cried.
A flying streak of gray darted madly across the bare, brown earth of the corral. Headlong after it raced Don, waving his arms and whooping shrilly.
“What on earth—” began Ruth, but Sue, Ted and Polly were already on the way to the corral also, and Jean was laughing.
“It’s Don’s timber cub,” she said to Ruth and Isabel. “He’s loose.”
Don caught at a coiled rope that hung on a saddle on the fence, just where he had left it before saddling up for the ride. The streak of gray made for the open passage like an escaped fleck of quicksilver, and Don set his teeth, and threw out on a chance.