“Get out of this!  Lively!” shouted Tom to the girls.

“Keep together!” added Hippy.

The two men forced their ponies between the girls and the lumberjacks, the girls using their crops on their ponies and urging them on.

The Overland girls cleared the scene in a few seconds, and halted a short distance up the street to wait for Hippy and Tom, who were having difficulty in extricating themselves from the mob.  They did not succeed in doing this until Hippy began to belabor Ginger over the rump, at the same time pulling up on the reins.  This caused the animal to whirl and buck and kick.  Every volley from Ginger’s lightning-like kicks put several members of the mob out of the fight.  Tom was using his crop, but without much effect.

A rough hand was laid on Hippy’s leg, and a mighty tug nearly unhorsed him.  It probably would have done so had not Hindenburg at that juncture taken a bite of the lumberjack’s hand and caused the fellow to let go without delay.

The jacks by this time had begun to fight among themselves.  Single and group fights suddenly sprung up all over the street.  The jacks, for the moment, had lost their interest in the newcomers, and the two Overland men, taking advantage of the opportunity, galloped down the street, passing scattered groups of brawlers who were too busy with their own affairs to heed them.

The Overland men were almost clear of the mob when yells ahead of them attracted their attention to a fresh disturbance.  A man, who, as they drew near, was seen to be an Indian standing at the side of the road, taking no part in the disturbance, was the object of the uproar.  A crowd of half a dozen jacks had pounced on the Indian.  He went down under the rush.  Hippy saw them grab the fellow and hurl him into the middle of the street.  The Indian was on his feet in an instant, and, from the light shed through the windows along the street, Hippy saw a knife flash in the Indian’s hand, saw the red man’s arm shoot out, and a man fall, uttering a howl.

The jacks hesitated briefly, then uttering angry yells they hurled themselves upon the Indian, bore him to the ground, and began to kick at him with their heavy boots.

Tom turned his pony and rode into the crowd at a gallop.  Three lumberjacks went down under his charge.

“The cowards!” raged Hippy, also charging into the group and completing what his companion had begun.

“Run, you poor fish!” he yelled at the Indian, who had got to his feet and stood dazedly gazing at his rescuers.  “Run!”

The Indian, suddenly recovering himself, darted between two buildings and disappeared.

“Good work!” chuckled Hippy, galloping up the street with Tom to join the girls, who were waiting for them.

“Oh, that was splendid!” cried Anne Nesbit as Tom and Hippy rejoined the party of Overland girls.

“It won’t be splendid unless we step lively,” answered Tom.

“Keep going, girls, keep going,” urged Hippy.

“I hate to run away, but being a peace-loving person I run away whenever a fight is suggested to me.”

“We know it,” observed Emma.

“Thanks!  Which way do we go?” questioned Hippy.

“Straight ahead and take the first right-hand turn about a mile from the village to reach Joe Shafto’s place, the storekeeper told me,” Grace informed them.

The party galloped on until they reached the turn indicated by Grace where they halted and consulted, deciding that the road to the right was the one they should take.  This road, according to Grace’s information, should lead them to Joe Shafto’s place, ten or fifteen miles further on, though it was not their purpose to go on to Joe’s that night.

The Overland Riders walked their horses after making the turn, there being no need for haste, as no one believed that the lumberjacks would follow, and further, the Overlanders were looking for a suitable camping place for the night.

“This appears to be a good place to make camp,” finally called Tom Gray, who was riding in the lead of the party.  Tom pulled up and looked about him, the others riding up to him and halting.

“No good!” answered a strange voice.

“What?  Who said that?” demanded Hippy.

A man stepped out from the shadow of the trees and stood confronting the peering Overlanders.

“It’s Lo, the poor Indian!” cried Hippy.  “Hello, Lo!”

“So it is,” agreed Tom.  “How did you get here ahead of us?”

“Come ’cross,” answered the man, indicating with a gesture that he bad taken a short cut through the woods, though how he knew where they were going, unless he had heard their discussion at the point where they took the right-hand road, the Overlanders could not imagine.

“You say this is ‘no good’ as a camping place.  What is the matter with it?” demanded Tom Gray, regarding the Indian suspiciously.

“No water.  You come, me show.”

“Let him lead the way,” suggested Elfreda.

“Yes.  Give the poor red man a chance,” urged Hippy.

The Indian, without asking further permission to lead them, turned and trotted along ahead at a typical Indian lope, and at a rate of speed that necessitated putting the ponies at a jog-trot in order to keep him in view.  The Indian proceeded on for fully half a mile, then, turning sharply to the left, led them on until he reached the bank of a stream, to which he pointed as indicating their camping place.

The site was hidden from the road by which they had arrived by trees and a bluff, thus protecting the party from discovery by persons passing along the road, which they readily understood the Indian had purposely planned.

“Fine!  Fine!” glowed Tom.

“We are much obliged to you, and thank you,” added Anne.

“What is your name?” asked Elfreda as the girls began to dismount.

“Willy Horse.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” exclaimed Hippy Wingate.  “That’s a horse of another color.  Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you Chief Willy Horse, and believe me he is some horse to stand the punishment those lumberjacks gave him and still be able to talk horse sense.”

The Overlanders acknowledged the introduction laughingly, and shook hands with the Indian, at the same time giving him their names.

“Where you go?” demanded the red man, addressing Tom Gray.

“To the Pineries in the north.”

“Good!  What do?”

“Cruise them, Willy.  Do you know what that is?”

The Indian nodded.

“Good!  What you do?” he questioned, turning to Lieutenant Wingate.

“Oh, most any old thing, Willy old hoss,” answered Hippy jovially.  “It is mostly other persons who do the doing, in my case.  They do me instead.”

“Good!  You Big Friend ­big medicine.  You help Willy Horse.  Willy not forget.  Mebby kill lumberjacks one day, too.”

“Don’t get naughty.  They hang naughty Indians,” reminded Hippy.

“Oh, Mister Pony ­I mean Mister Horse ­won’t you sit down and have a snack with us?” invited Emma Dean.

“Of course he must,” insisted Tom, pausing at his work of starting a cook fire.

The Indian shook his head.

“Me go,” he announced briefly.

“Sorry.  Hope we see you again,” said Hippy.

“Me see.  You Big Friend.  Bye,” he said, halting before Lieutenant Wingate.  With that he trotted away.

“What a queer character,” exclaimed Nora Wingate.  “He loves my Hippy, because my Hippy is a brave man.”

“Who runs away to fight another day ­not!” added Emma mockingly.

“He must have run very fast to catch up with us,” suggested Anne.

“An Indian can outdistance a horse, as horses ordinarily travel,” answered Tom.  “Then, too, he probably knew a shorter cut.”

“Did you notice how bruised and swollen his face was, and how indifferent he appeared to be about it?” questioned Grace solicitously.

“Probably not so indifferent as he seemed to be,” laughed Hippy.  “You know an Indian forgets neither a kindness nor a wrong, and you see how my magnetic personality led this particular Indian to love me.”

“All Indians do,” observed Emma.

“Let’s make camp and eat,” urged Anne.  “I am nearly famished.”

Hippy most heartily approved of Anne’s suggestion.  Every member of the outfit assisted in “rustling” the camp and the food.  Ginger got a whole handful of candy for his part in the routing of the lumberjacks, and Hindenburg also helped himself liberally from the bag when Hippy put it down on the ground.

While eating their supper the Overlanders talked over their experiences of the day and the evening.  Miss Briggs declared that she would have been keenly disappointed if something had not occurred to stir them up at the outset of their journey.

“This getting into difficulties became a habit with this outfit on the very day that it set sail for France and the great world war,” she said.

“I thank my stars that we are going into the woods where peace and the voices of nature reign supreme,” spoke up Emma.

“Sometimes the voices of nature have a savage growl in them,” reminded Tom Gray laughingly.  “Who is going to stand guard to-night?”

“No one,” answered Grace, nodding to Hippy.

“Righto!  The bull pup is the guard for this journey.  I brought Hindenburg along so that I might not lose sleep,” answered Hippy, which stirred the Overland girls to laughter.  They had not forgotten that it was a habit with Hippy Wingate to go to sleep when on guard and leave the camp unprotected.

All hands being tired and stiff after their long ride, they turned in as soon as the supper dishes were washed and laid out to dry.  Hindenburg was tied to a tree on a long leash so that he might not stray away, and the camp quickly settled down to slumber, a slumber that was uninterrupted until some time after sun-up, when the bull pup awakened them with his insistent barks.  Hindenburg wanted his breakfast.

They took their time in breakfasting, knowing that nothing was to be gained by haste in view of the fact that Joe Shafto would be engaged in ironing the family wash, and that they probably would not get started on their journey to the Big North Woods before the following day.

Stiffness of joints from the previous day’s ride was soon forgotten in the crisp morning air and the flame of color of the foliage, for they were now entering a scattering growth of forest.  As they progressed, however, the trees were of larger and sturdier growth and the road became merely a wagon trail leading to the northward.

Luncheon was eaten by the roadside and the journey resumed immediately afterwards.  An hour later they came upon a clearing of about an acre, with a small space occupied by a garden in which stood a log cabin of comfortable dimensions.

“Grace, is this the place?” called Tom Gray as they slowed down.

“I don’t know, but it seems to answer the description.”

“Anybody living up here would need to be a guide or he never would be able to find his way home,” declared Lieutenant Wingate.

“Hoo ­oo!” hailed Emma.

After a few moments of waiting the Overlanders were gratified to see the cabin door open and a woman step out, shading her eyes with a hand.  She was tall, thin and angular, the thinness of her face accentuated by a pair of big horn-rimmed spectacles through which she glared at the newcomers.

“Who be ye?” demanded the woman in a rasping voice.

“We are the Overland Riders, and we are looking for Joe Shafto’s place,” answered Grace pleasantly.

“I reckon ye ain’t lookin’ very hard,” snapped back the woman.

“Is this Joe’s place?” interjected Tom Gray.

“It be, I reckon.”

“Is Joe at home?  I am Tom Gray.  I arranged to have him act as our guide.”

“I reckon he is.”

Tom dismounted and led his pony to the gate, irritated at the woman’s abrupt manner and speech, but this feeling was not shared by the others of his party who were greatly amused at the brief dialogue.

“I say, I am Tom Gray.  May I see Joe?”

“I reckon ye kin if ye’ve got eyes.”

“Then please ask him to step out.  Or shall I go in?”

“Yer lookin’ at Joe Shafto.  If ye don’t like the looks of me look t’other way!” she fairly flung at him.

“You don’t understand, Madam.  We engaged Joe Shafto, a man, to guide us through the North Woods and ­”

“I tell ye I’m the party, and I’m man enough for any bunch of rough-necks in the timber,” retorted the woman.

“A woman guide!  Good night!” muttered Hippy Wingate under his breath.