“Unless we find our ponies we shall have no need of a guide,” answered Grace. “Ponies are what we are most in need of at this stage of our journey.”
“We can walk, can’t we?” spoke up Nora Wingate.
A chorus of “no’s” greeted her suggestion.
“Why don’t you give the subject some ‘absent treatment,’ Emma?” suggested Stacy Brown.
“I—I never tried it on a horse, and don’t know whether or not it will work,” stammered Miss Dean amid laughter. “I’ll try it, if you wish. As a matter of fact, my instructor in mental treatment says that one can accomplish anything if one only has faith in his ability to do so.”
“Stacy, do you hear that?” laughed Grace, smiling at the blinking fat boy. “It might do wonders for your appetite. Would you like to have Emma try her new fad on you?”
“Not on me,” protested Chunky with emphasis. “Let her try it on the horses. What’s the news, Uncle Hip?” he added, as Lieutenant Wingate sauntered into camp.
“None at all. The agent and the officials still insist that it is our car and our shipment of horses that lies on the siding over yonder. I have come back to you folks for a conference. What would you advise doing in the matter?”
“I, for one, advise remaining right where we are until we get our ponies, even if it takes all summer,” suggested Emma, but no one gave the slightest heed to her advice.
“Hippy, have you seen the waybill?” inquired Grace, who had been regarding Lieutenant Wingate thoughtfully.