Part 11 (1/2)

Barney McGee gave a long, melodious whistle.

”Lifted your motor, ma'am! That was a d--, excuse me, a devilish low scoundrelly trick. If I could get to a telephone, we would round him up before he gets to Wyoming.”

”Oh, Mr. McGee, if you would only help us, we would owe you a debt of grat.i.tude all our lives.”

”You say the motor was out of fix, ma'am?” he asked. ”Then it may have broken down, again. I'll just climb up and take a look at the countryside. What color was the car?”

”Red.”

To Nancy's consternation, Barney McGee stood up on his saddle and grasping a limb, drew himself up into the very tree in which Billie was now making herself as scarce as possible.

It was an absurd situation and the two young girls hardly knew whether to keep silent or to speak. Billie kept saying to herself:

”I'm sure I look just as I do when I wear my gymnasium suit, but, oh, dear, I wish he hadn't chosen this tree.”

As the cowboy swung up the next limb, Billie leaned around and looked straight down into his face. She was about to say:

”You needn't come any further. I can see the country perfectly,” when words failed her and she burst out laughing.

Barney McGee smiled gravely back.

”Excuse me, I am afraid I've intruded,” he said, observing the silk bloomers with an expression of guarded amus.e.m.e.nt.

”I suppose he thought I was a Suffragette,” Billie laughingly told her friends afterwards.

”Billie, my dear child, what are you doing?” cried Miss Campbell, who now for the first time saw the strange bird roosting in the tree above them, and the good lady groaned aloud as her eye took in her young relative's costume.

”Wilhelmina,” she exclaimed in a shocked voice, ”what will Mr. McGee think of you-in-in those things?”

”Don't scold her, ma'am,” called down the cowboy, ”it's an illigent climbing costume.”

”I have some gla.s.ses, Mr. McGee,” said Billie calmly. ”I haven't been able to manage them yet and keep my balance. Perhaps you can do better than I can.”

Barney McGee, as nimble as a mountain goat, as he pulled himself above Billie, his spurs jingling musically, now took the gla.s.ses and scanned the surrounding country.

While he looked, Billie scrambled down as fast as she could and in two seconds had slipped back on her skirt and buckled her patent leather belt.

The Motor Maids and Miss Helen felt not unlike a s.h.i.+pwrecked party with a sailor aloft in the lookout searching for a sail in that vast ocean of prairie.

”Hip, hip, hurray!” cried Barney McGee, so suddenly, that he gave Miss Helen a start of surprise. ”I've found it, ma'am. I've found the red motor and it's coming this way. Sure as me name is Barney, it is. It's driven by one person and it's goin' fast.”

”Coming this way?” they cried in unison.

”It's about three miles to the southwest and at the rate it's goin' it ought to be here in no time.”

”Is it on this road?” cried Billie.

”It is, Miss, and it'll pa.s.s by here unless it shoots out over the prairie, which it won't.”