“I believe so.”
“Hm-m-m-m!”
“Are you getting cold feet already?” teased Emma.
“Not yet, but I expect to when I get in those chilly looking snow-caps off yonder,” answered Stacy quickly. “This life is just one ridge after another.”
They had mounted ridges, and crossed broad and narrow valleys for some time without incident and the steady creak of saddle straps and girths was becoming monotonous, when suddenly Grace’s pony jumped clear of the ground with all four feet and began to back. Grace Harlowe, instantly understanding, called “Look out!” and whirled her pony about.
“What is the trouble, Grace?” called Tom, who was riding farther to the rear.
“A snake! I heard it, but do not know where it is.”
“Stay back. I will find him and dispatch him,” shouted Hippy, hurrying forward.
“Send him a message for me while you are about it. Tell him Emma Dean wishes him to transmigrate,” chortled Stacy.
Just then Lieutenant Wingate discovered the snake, and raising his rifle he aimed it over the head of his pony for a few seconds, then pulled the trigger.