But careless as his manner was, Jimsy’s eyes glowed with triumph.  It was plainly to be seen that he was delighted with his success.  Just then the two sheep drivers came running up.

The girls looked rather alarmed.  Suppose they should blame them for trying to kidnap the ram.

“I’ll do the talking,” declared Roy; “if you said anything, Jimsy, there might be a row.”

“All right,” laughed Jimsy, regarding his “roped and tied captive.”  “I suppose you are an expert on dealing with ram owners.”

“Well, I’m on to their mental ramifications,” laughed Roy.

The sheep driver, an elderly man, accompanied by a youth, came up to them now.  He touched his hat civilly as he approached.

“Good afternoon.  No one hurt, I hope,” he said.

The girls looked greatly relieved.  After all, the man was not rude or angry as they had feared.

“Oh, no, thank you,” cried Jess, before Roy or Jimsy could open their mouths.  “I hope he isn’t though.”

“Hurt!” exclaimed the ram’s owner, “why you couldn’t hurt him with a steam hammer.  Why, day ’afore yesterday the blame thing went for my wife.  Hoofs and horns—­yes, sir!  Most knocked her down, he did.  I’ll fix him.”

“What’s his name?” asked Bess.

“Hannibal,” said the man, without the flicker of a facial muscle.

“I should think Cannonball would be a better name for him,” struck in Jimsy, with that funny, serious face he always assumed when ‘joshing’.

“Yes, sir, I guess it would be more appropriate at that,” assented the man.

He looked at the disabled machine.

“Busted?” he asked with apparent concern.

“To some extent,” rejoined Roy, “only, except for that engine hood being dented there doesn’t appear to be much the matter with it.”

“Glad to pay if there be,” said the sheep driver.  “I’m going ter git rid of ther pesky critter.  He’s cost me a lot in damage suits already.”

“Why don’t you put him on the stage as the boxing ram, or something like that?” inquired Jimsy.

“Might be a good scheme,” said the man, as if considering the proposal seriously.

“Mary had a little ram—­” laughed Jimsy; who was thereupon told not to be “horrid.”

“Why don’t you box the nasty thing’s ears for riding in our car?” asked Roy of Peggy.

“I’d like to do something, the saucy thing,” declared Peggy with vehemence.

“Tell you what!  Let’s buy him.”

The suggestion came from Jimsy.

“Yes, and have his skin made up into an auto robe,” suggested Roy.

“If you boys aren’t ridiculous,” cried Peggy; “I want to forget the incident, and so I’m sure does Lavinia,” the name of the girl who had been spilled out of her machine.

“You may be sure I do,” she declared with emphasis.  “I was never so scared in my life.”

“Want to buy him?” asked the man, grasping at a chance of selling an animal that had already placed him in some embarrassing positions.