“Oh, gee, Betty, that reminds me—­” Bob sat up with a jerk and began a hasty search of his pockets.  “When you spoke of Mrs. Bender that reminded me of Laurel Grove, and Laurel Grove reminded me of Glenside, and that, of course, made me think of the Guerins—­Here ’tis!” and the boy triumphantly fished out a small letter from an inside pocket of his coat and tossed it into Betty’s lap.

“It’s from Norma Guerin!” Betty’s expressive voice betrayed her delight “Why, I haven’t heard from her in perfect ages.  I wonder what she has to say.”

“Open it and see,” advised the practical Bob.  “I meant to give you the letter right away, and first the tart and then the blouse thing-a-bub drove it out of my mind.  I’ll lead the horses and you can read as we walk.  Want me to take the plate back to Lee Chang?”

He dashed back to the bunk house, returned the tin, and rejoined Betty, who was slowly slitting the envelope of her letter with a hairpin.  She had tucked her candy box under her arm, and Bob took the bridles of the two horses.

“Mercy, what was that?” Betty glanced up startled, as a wild yell sounded over on their right.

There was a chorus of shouts, the same wild yell repeated, and then, sudden and without warning, came a dense and heavy rain of blackest oil.

“Oh, Bob, Bob!” There was genuine anguish in Betty’s wail of appeal.  “My new blouse—­look at it!”

But Bob had no time to look at anything.  Action was to be his course.

“It’s a premature blast!” he shouted.  “Come on, we’ve got to get out!”

CHAPTER II

NORMA’S LETTER

This was not Betty Gordon’s first experience with an oil well set off prematurely, and while she was naturally excited, she was not at all afraid.

“Get on Clover!” shouted Bob.  “I do wish you’d ever wear a hat—­”

Betty laughed a little as she scrambled into her saddle.  Bob, mounting his own horse, wore no hat, but it was a pet grievance of his that Betty persistently scorned headgear whether riding or walking.

“Gallop!” cried Bob.  “Shut your eyes if you want to—­Clover will follow Reuben.”

The white horse set off, his awkward lunge carrying him over the ground swiftly, and the little bay Clover cantered obediently after him.  Oil continued to rain down as they headed toward the north.

Betty closed her eyes, clutching her letter and candy box tightly in both hands and letting the reins lie idle on her horse’s neck.  Clover, galloping now, could be trusted to follow the leading horse.

“Getting better now!” Bob shouted back, turning in his saddle to see that Betty was safe.

Betty’s dark eyes opened and she shook back her hair, making a little face at the taste of oil in her mouth.  She slipped Norma Guerin’s letter into her pocket, glancing down at her blouse as she did so.