“Pp—su—tt! Ough! Whew!” she sputtered. “Hurt? No! Can't you see what I lit in? Dale, the sun-of-a-gun didn't throw me. He fell, and I went over his head.”
“Right. You sure rode him. An' he tripped an' slung you a mile,” replied Dale. “It's lucky you lit in that bog.”
“Lucky! With eyes and nose stopped up? Oooo! I'm full of mud. And my nice—new riding-suit!”
Bo's tones indicated that she was ready to cry. Helen, realizing Bo had not been hurt, began to laugh. Her sister was the funniest-looking object that had ever come before her eyes.
“Nell Rayner—are you—laughing—at me?” demanded Bo, in most righteous amaze and anger.
“Me laugh-ing? N-never, Bo,” replied Helen. “Can't you see I'm just—just—”
“See? You idiot! my eyes are full of mud!” flashed Bo. “But I hear you. I'll—I'll get even.”
Dale was laughing, too, but noiselessly, and Bo, being blind for the moment, could not be aware of that. By this time they had reached camp. Helen fell flat and laughed as she had never laughed before. When Helen forgot herself so far as to roll on the ground it was indeed a laughing matter. Dale's big frame shook as he possessed himself of a towel and, wetting it at the spring, began to wipe the mud off Bo's face. But that did not serve. Bo asked to be led to the water, where she knelt and, with splashing, washed out her eyes, and then her face, and then the bedraggled strands of hair.
“That mustang didn't break my neck, but he rooted my face in the mud. I'll fix him,” she muttered, as she got up. “Please let me have the towel, now.... Well! Milt Dale, you're laughing!”
“Ex-cuse me, Bo. I—Haw! haw! haw!” Then Dale lurched off, holding his sides.