part way and then returning after that dense, but lucky, 'Greaser'?"
"I should 'a' told you, ma'am," replied Jimmy, "that th' Logan-Sharpsville trail is about half way. We 'll put you on it an' turn back."
The strain was telling on Bill and he raised his arm. "Sorry to cut off this interestin' conversation, but I reckon we better move. Jimmy, tie that wolf-hound to th' axle—it won't make him drunk—an' then go ahead an' pick a new trail to Logan. Keep north of th' other, an' stay down from sky-lines. I 'll foller back a ways. Get a-goin'," and he was obeyed.
Jimmy rode a quarter of a mile in advance, unjustly escaping the remarks that Mollie was directing at him, her brothers, Bill, the dog and the situation in general. A backward glance as he left the wagon apprised him that the dangers of scouting were to be taken thankfully. He rode carelessly up the side of a hill and glanced over the top, ducked quickly and backed down with undignified haste. He fervently endorsed Bill's wisdom in taking a different route
