repeating. We were only saved by 

 my being able to grasp an overhang- 

 ing branch, and thus relieved of 

 his burden the horse scrambled up on 

 to the trail not a second too soon. 

 Possibly the Creator had for long 

 been making children, cubs, puppies 

 and other young things then; of a 

 sudden fearing that the world might 

 become too sweet a place, balanced 

 by fashioning the wasp all venom, 

 sting and temper. 



(This is really the story of Undine, 

 but the propeller blade has to be in 

 the air some of the time, you know.) 



After supper the long twilight still 

 lingered. Nimrod, who had been 

 sweeping the foothills with glasses, 

 gave utterance to this cryptic re- 

 mark: 



"I think I see a milk wagon! 

 Fresh milk for breakfast, a good 

 idea! Come Silverton, Cook, bring 

 a pail," and the three rode away 

 toward a small "bunch" of range 

 cattle that had come into view on 

 the edge of the sheep-ruined country. 



Undine and I were getting ac- 

 quainted. She was not a lap dog, 

 had evidently no conception of the 



