from going on the trip. The half-wild ponies were off and Bob had all he could do to hold them. Old Bill Hicks and his punchers had swept away into the starlit night some minutes before and were now out of both sight and hearing. As the party of young folk got out of the coulie, riding over the ridge, they saw a dull glow; far down on the western horizon.
"The fire!" cried Ruth, pointing.
"That's what it is," responded Jane Ann, excitedly. "Come on!"
She raced ahead and Tom spurred his mount after her. Directly in their wake lurched the buckboard, with the excited Bob snapping the long-lashed whip over the ponies' backs. The vehicle pitched and jerked, and traveled sometimes on as few as two wheels; the girls were jounced about unmercifully, and The Fox and Helen squealed.
"I'm—be—ing—jolt—ed—to–a–jel–ly!" gasped Heavy. "I'll be—one sol—id bruise."
But Bob did not propose to be left behind by Jane Ann and Tom Cameron, and Madge showed her heartlessness by retorting on the stout girl:
"You'll be solid, all right, Jennie, never mind whether you are bruised or not. You know that you're no 'airy, fairy Lillian.'"
But the rate at which they were traveling was not conducive to conversation; and most of the
