Page:Caroline Lockhart--The Fighting Shepherdess.djvu/331

 Bowers and his helpers were crowding the sheep up the runway into the last car when Kate rode up. She looked with pride at the mass of broad woolly backs as she sat with her arms folded on the saddle horn and thought to herself that if there were any better range sheep going into Omaha she would like to see them. She had made no mistake when she had graded up her herds with Rambouillets.

Bowers saw her and left the chute.

" Teeters is sick," he announced, coming up.

Kate's face grew troubled. She and Teeters had shipped together ever since they had had anything to ship, for it had been mutually advantageous in many ways; but particularly to herself, since he looked after her interests and saved her the necessity of making the trip to the market herself.

" Somethin' he's et," Bowers vouchsafed. '* The doctor says it's pantomime pizenin', or some sech name — anyhow, he's plenty sick."

"Where is he?"

Bowers nodded across the flat where they had been holding the sheep while waiting for their cars.

Kate swung her horse about and galloped for the tent where Teeters lay groaning in his blankets on the ground.

Teeters was ill indeed — a glance told her that — and there was not the remotest chance that he would be able to leave with the train.

"I guess I'll be all right by the time they're ready to pull out," he groaned.

Kate made her decision quickly.

"I'll go myself. You're too sick. You get to the hotel and go to bed."

Teeters protested through a paroxysm of pain: