Mr. Wells, the Silver Creek station master, hurried forward when he saw that the limited was slowing down. It never stopped unless it had passengers. When the four girls alighted, the tallest placed her bags on the platform and went toward the weather-tanned middle aged man with hands outstretched. “Oh, Mr. Wells,” she exclaimed, and her voice betrayed her anxiety, “why isn’t my brother here to meet me, or Uncle Tex or one of the boys? I sent them a telegram. Didn’t you get it?”

The small boy, Davie, who had a front tooth missing, had come running up from somewhere. “Yes’m, Miss Virginia,” he said breathlessly, “I took the telegram over to V. M. two days ago jest as soon as Pa give it to me. Mis’ Mahoy was all the folks I could find. The men was out riding the range. She said they seemed to be huntin’ for something. She didn’t know what, but they acted mighty puzzlin’. Uncle Tex, though, he was ’spected back that night or the next.”

The girls had gathered around, listening, when suddenly the boy, who felt very important, as he was the center of attention, suddenly leaped across the platform and looked toward the north. “Pa,” he shouted, “see that dust cloud a-comin’? D’y ’spose it’s a stampede or suthin’? D’y ’spose—”

“I do believe it’s our automobile.” Virginia shaded her eyes to gaze through the dazzling sunshine. It was indeed, but it was approaching in such a zig-zag manner that even Mr. Wells was puzzled.

“I reckon the fellar at the steerin’ gear is plumb beat out. I figger that thar car’s sort o’ runnin’ itself,” he speculated.

The watchers were convinced that this was true for as the cloud of sand cleared away, they could see the big seven passenger car that belonged to the V. M. Ranch, but the driver was neither Lucky nor Malcolm.

“It can’t be Uncle Tex, for he doesn’t know how to drive,” Virginia had just said, when Margaret exclaimed, “But it is Uncle Tex, and he certainly doesn’t know how to drive. Oh, Virg, did you see the lunge he took just then? I do believe he is going right over the tracks and down into the dry creek instead of coming this way.”

“Mighty-tighty!” The station master’s favorite expletive expressed his consternation. “Cain’t nuthin’ be done to head him off? I dunno a tarnel thing about them pesky iron-bronchos.”

Virginia had caught one glance of the driver’s face as the front wheel had struck a hummock of sand, causing the car to swerve. If it 

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