"You've busted into another rick, too!" He urged the horse to a faster lope.

Then he saw a steer start away from the stack; he saw others join it and begin an insane sort of milling and prancing.

"What the " He was near enough now to observe that a horse stood tied to the fence about the stack, and he put Nigger to a run. His fear that some one was in trouble was confirmed as he saw the burdened steer fall to its knees. He made out that something, some one, was clinging to the steer's head; and spurring madly he began to uncoil the rope from his saddle and shake out an ample loop.

He rode at the group of capering steers, sending out the shrill wild "y-i-i-i-i-p!" that always sent the devils flying. The group scattered, leaving the hampered one staggering and plunging about- Was that clinging thing impaled on its horn? Full speed, he rode for the buck-jumping brute, whirled his loop once and threw. Nigger stopped, his forefeet plowing the frozen turf, turned to face the steer lassoed by its hind feet and heaved against the stretched rope.

Nan, at the limit of her endurance, was thrown clear as the steer went down. Half stunned, blinded by the grass and dirt and hysterical with fear of the rushing, pounding noises about her, she forced her arms across her head and screamed as Tom jumped from his horse and ran towards her. But before she fainted, she heard his voice:

"My God, it's Nan!"

He gathered her into his arms, approached the panting Nigger, lifted her astride his neck, mounted, threw off the rope and, holding her close, turned toward the Dines place.

Susan met him at the gate.

"Tom!" she cried. He gave the girl's unconscious form into her aunt's arms, stammered out what had happened, then:

"Poor little Nan!" he sobbed; and Susan Dines, choking back the tears that threatened to blind her, ordered sternly:

"Ride for Dr. Hardwick, Tom; I'll tend to her."

O

CHAPTER VIII

LONGHORNS

N his way out of Big Grove with Dr. Hard-
wick, Tom was hailed by the station agent:
"Telegram for you!"

Winger opened it and read:

"Arrange for feed till I arrive. Gabe Horner." "Good. No answer, Bert." He galloped on to overtake the doctor.

In the Dines kitchen, Tom waited for the old woman to come downstairs with news of Nan. She entered smilingly.

"She's feelin' real well, Tom, considerin'. She's got bruises an' cuts, an' her arms are sure strained, but she says she'll be good for another wrastlin' match in a week. The doctor says ten days.'

"Gee, that's good!" Tom exploded with a great burst of relief, a wide boyish grin appealing to Susan Dines's warm heart. "You know, Miz Dines, she was sure doin' some fine old bull-doggin' when I first spied her!" On his way in to talk with Billy Dines, he turned to add:

"Tell her I've heard from Gabe Horner; we're goin' to buy that hay, since them longhorns seem to like it

so much!" He grinned again, but in his eyes the old woman read a hint of the strain he had endured.

"That'll help make her well." She came to lay a hand on his arm and say with affectionate gravity: "I guess you saved her life, Tom. Me an' Billy can't ever forget that!"

"Shucks," he muttered, embarrassed. "I'm thankful I got to her when I did. . . . Well, I'll go in an' have a chin with Mr. Dines and settle about that hay."

The men agreed to leave the matter of price to Gabe Horner, and then Tom suggested:

"'Shorty' and me 'll ride herd on them longhorns to-night an' shove 'em over to the stacks first thing in the mornin'. Reckon we'd better just take down the fences an' let 'em at the hay?"

"I wouldn't do that," the old man objected, "it's wasteful. They'd tromp more into the mud than they'd eat. I understand Horner's shippin' a thousand more in a few days, an' you'll have to feed for over a month, anyway. I ain't sure you can get any more hay around here. I'd haul it out from the stacks an' scatter it on the ground."

"'Shorty' an' me are all right a-horseback," Tom observed dubiously, "but I expect we'd make a sorry combination on a hay wagon."

"Maybe," Billy Dines offered, "we could get two of Harvey Stokes's baling crew, Fred Gifford and Wes Madden, to stay here, for a while, anyway, and haul out the hay with one of my teams." It was so arranged,

and Tom rode on to carry the glad tidings to "Shorty" Stevens and help to round up the scattered steers.

"Well, I'll be dog-goned if you didn't do some business!" the puncher commented when he had heard Tom's account of the day's doings. After a time he inquired casually:

"Is that Forest gal a good looker, Tom?"

"What!" Winger turned in his saddle to gaze at "Shorty" with astonishment, with an instinctive resentment of the other's natural question. "Shucks, she's only a kid, 'Shorty'." But the question raised a doubt in his mind; wasn't this Nan who had helped to put up two hundred tons of hay, who had undertaken to find money for her father's defense, who had left school to help her aunt during Billy Dines's convalescence something more than a child? Presently he amended his first answer: "Well, she ain't sixteen yet. Yes, she's right pretty."

“Uh, huh,” the puncher acknowledged. Then meaningly: "Say, Ruby Engel's got a case on you. She was askin' all kinds of questions about you at noon. I sure gave you a rep!"

"Well, I'll tell you, 'Shorty,' I ain't carin' a hell of a lot about what kind of a reputation I've got with her," Tom asserted positively. "I know somethin' about her, an' she ain't my style. That Ruby gal is too wise for me."

"That so?" grinned "Shorty," and declared cheer