But there was the danger of being caught in the act by some meddlesome fellow who loved to come snooping around where he had no business, so Mary V placed the tablet open on the table just as she had found it, and left the bunk house without deigning to fulfill the errand of mercy that had taken her there.  Why should she trouble to sew the lining in a coat sleeve for a fellow who pined for a silly flirtation with Venus?  Let Johnny Jewel paw and struggle to get into his coat.  Better, let Venus sew that lining for him!

Mary V stopped halfway to the house, and hesitated.  It had occurred to her that she might add another perfectly withering verse to that poem.  It could start:  “While sailing in my airplane boat, I’ll ask Venus to mend my coat.”

Mary V started back, searing couplets forming with incredible swiftness in her brain.  How she would flay Johnny Jewel with the keen blade of her wit!  If he thought he was the only person at the Rolling R ranch who could write poetry, it would be a real kindness to show him his mistake.

Just then Bud Norris and Bill Hayden came up from the corrals, heading straight for the bunk house.  Mary V walked on, past the bunk house and across the narrow flat opposite the corrals and up on the first bench of the bluff that sheltered the ranch buildings from the worst of the desert winds.  She did it very innocently, and as though she had never in her life had any thought of invading the squat, adobe building kept sacred to the leisure hours of the Rolling R boys.

There was a certain ledge where she had played when she was a child, and which she favored nowadays as a place to sit and look down upon the activities in the big corral—­whenever activities were taking place therein—­an interested spectator who was not suspected of being within hearing.  As a matter of fact, Mary V could hear nearly everything that was said in that corral, if the wind was right.  She could also see very well indeed, as the boys had learned to their cost when their riding did not come quite up to the mark.  She made for that ledge now.

She had no more than settled herself comfortably when Bud and Bill came cackling from the bunk house.  A little chill of apprehension went up Mary V’s spine and into the roots of her hair.  She had not thought of the possibilities of that open tablet falling into other hands than Johnny Jewel’s.

“Hyah!  You gol-darn witless wight,” bawled Bud Norris, and slapped Bill Hayden on the back and roared.  “Hee-yah!  Skyrider!  When yo’ all git done kissin’ Venus’s snow-white hand, come and listen at what’s been wrote for yo’ all by Mary V!  Whoo-ee!  Where’s the Great Bear at that yo’ all was goin’ to lead home, Skyrider?” Then they laughed like two maniacs.  Mary V gritted her teeth at them and wished aloud that she had her shotgun with her.

A youth, whose sagging chaps pulled in his waistline until he looked almost as slim as a girl, ceased dragging at the bridle reins of a balky bronk and glanced across the corral.  His three companions were hurrying that way, lured by a paper which Bud was waving high above his head as he straddled the top rail of the fence.