THE SLAYER OF MASTODONS
Dora and Susie had planned to botanize one fine Saturday morning, and Susie, dressed for a tramp in the hills, was playing with a pup in the dooryard, waiting for Dora, when she saw Smith coming toward her with the short, quick step which, she had learned, with him denoted mental activity.
“This is the day for it,” he said decisively. “I had that notorious feelin’ take holt of me when I got awake. How’s your heart, girl?”
It had given a thump at Smith’s approach, and Susie’s tawny skin had paled under its tan, but by way of reply she gave the suggestive Indian sign of strength.
“Good!” he nodded. “You’ll need a strong heart for the ridin’ you’ve got to do to-day; but I’m not a worryin’ that you can’t do it, kid, for I’ve watched you close.”
“Guess I could ride
