Fortuitous circumstances do happen elsewhere besides in bald romance. Unlooked-for help appeared in this moment of Betty’s need. She looked up to see Nell Blossom on her cream-colored pony galloping along the wagon track, coming from the direction of Canyon Pass. The cabaret singer glanced at the dismounted girl, nodded, and would have gone right by, but she chanced to see the pony limp on a yard or two.
“What’s the matter with that hoss?” demanded Nell, reining in her own pony with both skill and promptness.
“Oh, Miss Blossom,” cried Betty, “there’s a stone in his foot, and I can’t get it out.”
“Where’s your side partner?” asked Nell, getting slowly down. “That Joe Hurley oughtn’t to let you tenderfoots out of his sight. Not on the open trail.”
Betty recognized the measure of scorn in this remark, but she was in no position to resent it. She said as casually as she could:
“Mr. Hurley stayed behind for something. He may not even come back this way. I really do not know what to do for the poor creature.”
“Meanin’ Joe, or the hoss?” and the blue eyes danced suddenly with mischief.
“The poor pony.”
“Get the stone out,” Nell said, picking up the pony’s foot.
“It is wedged in tightly—that stone.”