RETURN HOME. 
83 
barrel of which was always kept in readiness for 
such large creatures — in position to fire as soon as 
she could discover it ; when a familiar voice ex- 
claimed, “ Hold on! Don't shoot!" and Mr. 
Maxwell emerged, laughing, and protesting, “You 
don't scare worth a cent!" 
Of course, the party they had hoped to regain 
was on its way home by that time, and there was 
nothing for them to do except return. They did 
not wish to remain over Sunday, but were unable 
to start until late Saturday afternoon. Mr. Max- 
well had brought his son’s wife and family to the 
nearest house, a mile or so distant from the camp, 
and it was arranged that in returning he should 
take them back in the carriage in which they 
came up ; Mrs. Maxwell and Mabel should ride 
their ponies, and the baggage be packed upon 
the third horse, which the former should lead. 
Mr. Maxwell, feeling sure they would meet 
with no difficulty his wife was not competent to 
manage, took the lead, and, anxious to reach his 
son’s as soon as possible on account of the little 
children, was soon out of sight. The pony Mabel 
rode proved a vicious little beast, of the breed 
familiarly known at the West as broncho — a cross 
between the Mexican and Indian ponies, possess- 
ing all the vices and few of the virtues of both 
ancestral lines. The art of “bucking” is one of 
its birthrights. It will be necessary to explain 
