She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. “I’m awful

frightened,” she said, naively; “whoever would have thought that Poncho would

have been so scared by a lot of cows?”

 

“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said earnestly. He was a tall,

savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the

rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. “I guess

you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” he remarked, “I saw you ride down from

his house. When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St.

Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick.”

 

“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.

 

The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled

with pleasure. “I’ll do so,” he said, “we’ve been in the mountains for two

months, and are not over and above in visiting condition. He must take us as he

finds us.”

 

“He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,” she answered, “he’s awful

fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me he’d have never got over it.”

 

“Neither would I,” said her companion.

 

“You! Well, I don’t see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow.