Peter and Joan could add their story, too.  Peter might tell, for instance, how Tilderee and Fudge, the companion of most of her pranks, frightened off the shy prairie-dogs he was trying to tame; saying they had no right to come there pretending to be dogs when they were only big red squirrels, which indeed they greatly resembled.  Still he was very fond of his little sister.  He liked to pet and romp with her, to carry her on his back and caper around like the friskiest of ponies.  When he paused for breath she patted his sun-burned cheek with her dimpled hand, saying, in her cooing voice, “Good brother Pippin!” which was her nickname for him.  Then he forgot that she delighted to tease him,—­that her favorite pastime was to chase the young chicks and cause a tremendous flutter in the poultry yard; and how vexed he had been when she let his mustang out of the enclosure, “because,” she said, “Twinkling Hoofs needs a bit of fun and a scamper as well as anybody; and he was trying to open the gate with his nose.”  It took two days to find the mustang and coax him back again.  Tilderee was penitent for fully ten minutes after this escapade; but she endeavored to console herself and Peter by declaring, “I know, Pippin, that the Indians must have Twinkling Hoofs by this time.  And he’s so pretty they’ll keep him for a chief to ride; a big, fat chief, with a gay blanket and a feather headdress, and red and blue paint on his face.  Won’t Twinkling Hoofs be s’prised at all that?  But never mind, Pippin; papa will let you ride the old grey horse!”

No one knew better than Joan, however, just how tantalizing Tilderee could be,—­how she dallied in the morning playing hide-and-seek, refusing to have her face washed and her tangled hair brushed into shining curls; this, too, when Joan was in the greatest hurry to go and give the fluffy chicks and the grave old fowl their breakfast.  It was very well for Peter to say, “What should we do without Tilderee?” If she bothered him he could take his rifle and go shooting with Abe, the old scout; or jump upon Twinkling Hoofs and gallop all over the ranch.  How would he like the midget to tag after him all day, to have the care of her when mother went to the Fort to sell the butter and eggs?  “Indeed I could get on very well without the little plague,” Joan sometimes grumbled—­“just for a teenty bit of a while,” she generally added, hastily; for she really loved her little sister dearly.  Joan tried hard to be patient, but she had a quick temper, and occasionally forgot her good resolutions.  This happened one day when her mother had gone to dispose of the dairy products.  The provocation was certainly great.

Joan had a lovely French doll—­the only French doll in the Territory, and probably the most beautiful one to be found within many hundred miles.  Mrs. Miller, the wife of one of the officers at the Fort, brought it to her from Chicago; and the little girl regarded it as more precious than all the family possessions combined.  What, then, was her consternation this morning to see Fudge dash around the corner of the house dangling the fair Angelina by the blue silk dress, which he held between his teeth, and Tilderee following in wild pursuit!  Joan rushed out and rescued her treasure; but, alas! it was in a sadly dilapidated condition.  She picked up a stick and started after the dog, but Tilderee interfered.