“She’s struck her callin’,” remarked Budd Hankinson one day, while watching her speeding like a courser across the open country.

“What is that?” asked the father, who was proud of his children, and especially of the pretty daughter.

“Why, riding hosses like a streak of lightnin’,” was the somewhat indefinite response.

“What particular profession can she fill by dashing over the country in that style?” continued the parent with a smile.

“Why, showing other persons how it is done.  I’ve no doubt, colonel, that she could make good wages in breaking broncos and teaching young women like her how to ride in the right style; I advise you to think about it.”

“I will do so,” replied the parent, with so much gravity that the cowman never suspected his sincerity, but felt the satisfaction of believing he had given his employer a valuable “pointer.”

Another pleasure which followed the removal of the Whitneys to Wyoming was that their friend Monteith Sterry followed them within a few months.  He had shown some signs of running down in health while attending the high school in Boston, despite the fact that he was one of the best athletes in the institution; but he readily persuaded his wealthy father that a few months’ experience in the bracing northwest would do him more good than anything and everything else in the world.

That he might have some pretext other than the one which could not wholly deceive the Whitneys, he engaged to serve the Live Stock Association, which was beginning to have trouble with the rustlers.  Matters were not only going wrong, but were rapidly getting worse in Wyoming, and they were glad to secure the services of such a daring and honest youth, who seemed rather to welcome the fact that he could perform his duties faithfully only at personal risk to himself.

It need not be explained how it came about that young Sterry found it necessary to give a great deal of his attention to that section of Wyoming in which the Whitneys lived.  There appeared to be more need of it there than in any of the other neighborhoods where the outlook was really threatening.

The natural consequence was that he became a frequent visitor at the home of his former friend, though he found other acquaintances engaged in the cattle business who were glad to have him take shelter under their roofs.  Sometimes he engaged in hunting with them, and several times Fred Whitney and Jennie joined him.  There was a spice of peril in these excursions which rendered them fascinating to all three.

The particular day to which we refer was a mild afternoon in May, 1892.  Jennie was helping her mother with her household duties in their home, where they had lived since coming from their native State.  The building was one of the long, low wooden structures common in that section, to which the fashions of the older civilization have not yet penetrated.  It possessed all the comforts they required, though it took some time for the brother and sister to accustom themselves to the odd style of architecture.