Tish came in just then and we confronted her.

[Illustration:  “It’s well enough for you, Tish Carberry, to talk about gripping a horse with your knees”]

“Ponies!” I said bitterly.  “They are horses, if I know a horse.  And, moreover, it’s well enough for you, Tish Carberry, to talk about gripping a horse with your knees.  I’m not built that way, and you know it.  Besides, no knee grip will answer when a creature begins to act like a cat in a fit.”

Aggie here had a bright idea.  She said that she had seen pictures of pneumatic jackets to keep people from drowning, and that Mr. McKee, a buyer at one of the stores at home, had taken one, fully inflated, when he crossed to Paris for autumn suits.

“I would like to have one, Tish,” she finished.  “It would break the force of a fall anyhow, even if it did puncture.”

Tish, who was still dressed, went out to the curio shop in the lobby, and returned with the sad news that there was nothing of the sort on sale.

We were late in getting started the next morning owing partly to Aggie’s having put her riding-breeches on wrong, and being unable to sit down when once in the saddle.  But the main reason was the guide we had engaged.  Tish heard him using profane language to one of the horses and dismissed him on the spot.

The man who was providing our horses and outfit, however, understood, and in a short time returned with another man.

“I’ve got a good one for you now, Miss Carberry,” he said.  “Safe and perfectly gentle, and as mild as milk.  Only has one fault, and maybe you won’t mind that.  He smokes considerably.”

“I don’t object, as long as it’s in the open air,” Tish said.

So that was arranged.  But I must say that the new man did not look mild.  He had red hair, although a nice smile with a gold tooth, and his trousers were of white fur, which looked hot for summer.

“You are sure that you don’t use strong language?” Tish asked.

“No, ma’am,” he said.  “I was raised strict, and very particular as to swearing.  Dear, dear now, would you look at that cinch!  Blow up their little tummies, they do, when they’re cinched, and when they breathe it out, the saddle’s as loose as the tongues of some of these here tourists.”

Tish swung herself up without any trouble, but owing to a large canvas bag on the back of my saddle I was unable to get my leg across, and was compelled to have it worked over, a little at a time.  At last, however, we were ready.  A white pack-horse, carrying our tents and cooking-utensils, was led by Bill, which proved to be the name of our cowboy guide.

Mr. Bell came to say good-bye and to wish us luck.  But he looked unhappy, and there was no sign whatever of the young lady, whose name we had learned was Helen.

“I may see you on the trail,” he said sadly.  “I’m about sick of this place, and I’m thinking of clearing out.”