A yell from the Honorable Woo Smith interrupted the dialogue. Kitty, the mischievous pack-horse, had playfully seized the queue of Woo Smith between her teeth and was jerking her head up and down, and, with each jerk, the Chinaman was jolted backwards, howling lustily, chattering in volleys in his native tongue. The street, near the village store, filled with cowboys and citizens as if by magic. They set up yells, shouts and cat-cries that smothered the chatter of the new guide.
Grace, being nearest to the mischievous animal, sprang forward and gave the white pack-horse a smart slap with the flat of her hand on Kitty’s plump stomach. The mare instantly dropped the howling Chinaman, and, whirling on Grace with wide open mouth, looked as if she were about to devour the Overland Rider. The girl never flinched.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Kitty?” she chided. “If ever I see you do a thing like that again I’ll surely have you punished. Do you understand?”
The mare’s mouth closed slowly, her upper lip quivered, she nibbled gingerly at Grace Harlowe’s sleeve, and looked as meek as was possible for a mischievous pony to look. The cowboys grunted disgustedly. They were disgruntled that Grace had spoiled their fun, disappointed that the white mare had not taken a large slice, either out of the Chinaman or Grace Harlowe herself.
“Grace, do you know, you have given us a most remarkable demonstration of the transmigration of thought,” declared Emma. “It was your thought, transmitted to the mentality of the white mare, that caused her to desist, to beg of you to forgive and—”
“Yeo-o-o-o-ow!” howled Chunky.
“Young man, your rudeness is inexcusable,” rebuked Emma.
“That’s what the white mare wanted to say to Grace,” retorted Stacy.
While all this was taking place, Tom and Elfreda were talking with the mountaineers, getting all the information they could about trails and conditions in the mountains. The result of the information gleaned was that the Overland Riders decided that they would take the “Cold Stream Trail” for the High Country, a section seldom visited, but which Woo Smith declared he knew all about. The spectators were inclined to make sport of the explorers, and especially of the idea that women could ride the Sierras. Even the postmaster sought to dissuade them from making the attempt.
“It’s a bad country,” he confided to Tom. “With that bunch of gals on your hands, you’ll starve to death, sure’s you’re a foot high.”