“It does seem,” remarked Mercy Curtis in her sharp way, “that Ruthie Fielding cannot venture abroad without getting into trouble.”

“And getting out of it, I thank you,” rejoined Helen, somewhat offended by Mercy’s remark.

“Certainly I have not been killed yet,” was Ruth’s mild observation, pinching Helen’s arm to warn her that she was not to quarrel with the rather caustic lame girl.  Mercy’s affliction, which still somewhat troubled her, had never improved her naturally crabbed disposition, and few of her girl friends had Ruth’s patience with her.

“I don’t know that I feel much like seeing cowboys rope steers and all that after seeing that horrid black bull charge our Ruthie,” complained Helen.  “Shall we really go to the show?”

“Why!  Ruth just told that girl we would,” said Jennie.

“I wouldn’t miss seeing that Wonota shoot for anything,” Ruth declared.

“But there is nobody here to watch the automobile now,” went on Helen, who was more nervous than her chum.

“Yes,” Jennie remarked.  “Here comes ’Silas Simpkins, the straw-chewing rube,’” and she giggled.

The farmer was at hand, puffing and blowing.  He assured them that “that critter” was tightly housed and would do no more harm.

“Hope none o’ you warn’t hurt,” he added.  “By jinks! that bull is jest as much excited by this here Wild West Show as I be.  Did you pay me for your ortymobile, young ladies?”

“I most certainly did,” said Ruth.  “Your bull did not drive all memory away.”

“All right.  All right,” said the farmer hastily.  “I thought you did, but I wasn’t positive you’d remember it.”

With which frank confession he turned away to meet another motor-car party that was attempting to park their machine on his land.

The four girls got out into the dusty road and marched to the ticket wagon that was gaily painted with the sign of “Dakota Joe’s Wild West and Frontier Round-Up.”

“This is my treat,” declared Ruth, going ahead to the ticket window with the crowd.  “I certainly should pay for all this excitement I have got you girls into.”

“Go as far as you like,” said Jennie.  “But to tell the truth, I think the owner of the black bull should be taxed for this treat.”

Dakota Joe’s show was apparently very popular, for people were coming to it not only from Longhaven and Cheslow, but from many other towns and hamlets.  This afternoon performance attracted many women and children, and when the four young women from Cheslow got into their reserved seats they found that they were right in the midst of a lot of little folks.