“We don’t know. All depends upon how my husband gets along with his wounds. He was shot in a fight with the men who, we believe, stole our ponies, but we hope that he will be able to ride in a short time,” answered Nora.
“Ain’t that too bad? Gosh! If a fellow hurt my man I reckon I’d do some shootin’ for myself,” observed Judy. “Who do you think rustled them ponies?”
Tom Gray said they did not know, but that they proposed to find out, and asked her if she or her father had any suspicion as to who the rustlers were. Judy shook her head.
“I don’t know nothin’. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Say, Emma, what’s that word you got off jest now?”
“Imponderable,” intoned Stacy gloomily.
“I didn’t ask you, Mr. Fatty. Write it down, Emma, and I’ll try it on Pap. I’ll bet there’ll be some fun. Wal, I reckon I’ll be hittin’ the trail for home. So long, Tom. Hippy, I hopes your laig gets better right smart,” she called to the Overlander on the porch. “’Bye, girls.”
“Come again soon, and as often as you can,” urged Grace.
“Sure I will. Mebby I can’t get back today, but I’ll try. Say, Emma, I’m goin’ to practice that word on Butte. That’s my mustang. If he stands for it I reckon Pap can,” finished Judy, starting slowly towards her pony, arms linked with Grace and Elfreda. “Butte’s got a temper somethin’ like Pap’s. I reckon he got it from Pap, too. Let’s see. What’s that word? Im—impond’ble. All right. Jest watch me.”
Judy swung lightly into her saddle.
“G’wan, you impond’ble, dad-busted cayuse,” she shouted, touching the animal lightly with a spur.