Andy, as guide, bolted ahead of the party that he might open the gate.  Bolted is a good word, for his horse swerved and kept on running, swerved again, and came down in a heap.  Andy did not get up, and the women screamed.  Then Pink and some others hurried out and bore Andy, groaning, to the bunk-house.

The visitors from the East gathered, perturbed, around the door, sympathetic and dismayed.  It looked very much as if their exploration must end where it began, and the-girl-who-does-things looked about to weep, until Andy, still groaning, sent Pink out to comfort them.

“He says you needn’t give up the trip on his account,” Pink announced musically from the doorway.  “He’s drawing a map and marking the coulee where the ruin is.  He says most any of the boys that know the country at all can find the place for yuh.  And he isn’t hurt permanent; he strained his back so he can’t ride, is all.”  Pink dimpled at the young old lady who was admiring him frankly, and withdrew.

Inside, Andy Green was making pencil marks and giving the chosen half explicit directions.  At last he folded the paper and handed it to one called Sandy.

“That’s the best I can do for yuh,” he finished.  “I don’t see how yuh can miss it if yuh follow that map close.  And if them gay females make any kick on the trail, you just remind ’em that I said all along it was rough going.  So long, and good luck.”

So with high-keyed, feminine laughter and much dust, passed the exploring party from the Rocking R.

“Say,” Pink began two days later to Andy, who was sitting on the shady side of the bunk-house staring absently at the skyline, “There’s a word uh praise I’ve been aiming to give yuh.  I’ve seen riding, and I’ve done a trifle in that line myself, and learned some uh the tricks.  But I want to say I never did see a man flop his horse any neater than you done that morning.  I’ll bet there ain’t another man in the outfit got next your play.  I couldn’t uh done it better myself.  Where did you learn that?  Ever ride in Wyoming?”

Andy turned his eyes, but not his head—­which was a way he had—­and regarded Pink slantwise for at least ten seconds.  “Yes, I’ve rode in Wyoming,” he answered quietly.  Then:  “What’s the chance for a job, up your way?  Is the Flying U open for good men and true?”

“It won’t cost yuh a cent to try,” Pink told him.  “How’s your back?  Think you’ll be able to ride by the time Skeeker is able to travel?”

Andy, grinned.  “Say,” he confided suddenly, “if that hoss don’t improve some speedy, I’ll be riding on ahead.  I reckon I’ll be able to travel before them explorers get back, my friend.”

“Why?” dimpled Pink boldly.

“Why?  Well, the going is some rough, down that way.  If they get them wagons half way to the coulee marked with a cross, they’ll sure have to attach wings onto ’em.  I’ve been some worried about that.  I don’t much believe uncle Peter is going to enjoy that trip—­and he sure does get irritable by spells.  I’ve got a notion to ride for some other outfit, this summer.”