The Fighting Shepherdess

"Somethin' he's et," Bowers vouchsafed. "The doctor says it's pantomime pizenin', or some sech name--anyhow, he's plenty sick."

"Where is he?"

Bowers nodded across the flat where they had been holding the sheep while waiting for their cars.

Kate swung her horse about and galloped for the tent where Teeters lay groaning in his blankets on the ground.

Teeters was ill indeed--a glance told her that--and there was not the remotest chance that he would be able to leave with the train.

"I guess I'll be all right by the time they're ready to pull out," he groaned.

Kate made her decision quickly.

"I'll go myself. You're too sick. You get to the hotel and go to bed."

Teeters protested through a paroxysm of pain: "You can't do that, Miss Kate. It's a tedious dirty trip in the caboose."

"I can't help it. I've too much at stake to take a chance. There's a big storm coming and I've got to get these sheep through in good shape. Don't worry about me and take care of yourself."

The engine whistled a preliminary warning as Kate dropped the tent flap and swung back on her horse. Calling to Bowers to have the train held until she returned, she galloped to the Prouty House and ran up the stairs to her room, where she thrust her few articles in the flour sack that she tied on the back of her saddle when it was necessary to remain over night in town.

The last frightened sheep had been urged up the chute and the door was closed when she threw her belongings on the platform of the caboose and informed Bowers that she was going along. He too protested, but her mind was made up.

"We're going to run into a storm, and if we're sidetracked I want to be along. It's not pleasant, but it has to be done."

It was useless to argue when Kate used that tone, so Bowers had to content himself with thinking that he would make her as comfortable as circumstances would allow.

Kate stood in the doorway with her flour sack in her hand looking at Prouty as the brakes relaxed and the wheels began to grind. It was not exactly the way in which she had pictured her first trip into the world, but, with a cynical smile, it was as near the realization as her dreams ever were.

Kate had not ridden more than a hundred miles on a train in her life, and her knowledge of cities was still gathered from books and magazines. As she had become more self-centered and absorbed in her work, her interest in the "outside" gradually had died. She told herself indifferently that there was time enough to gratify her curiosity.