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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIP, OF THE FLYING U *** Produced by Matthew H. Heller and David Widger








CHIP, OF THE FLYING U By B. M. Bower (B. M. Sinclair)



AUTHOR OF โ€œThe Lure of the Dim Trails,โ€ โ€œHer Prairie Knight,โ€ โ€œThe Lonesome Trail,โ€ etc.





CONTENTS


CHAPTER I. โ€” The Old Man's Sister.

CHAPTER II. โ€” Over the โ€œHog's Back.โ€

CHAPTER III. โ€” Silver.

CHAPTER IV. โ€” An Ideal Picture.

CHAPTER V. โ€” In Silver's Stall.

CHAPTER VI. โ€” The Hum of Preparation.

CHAPTER VII. โ€” Love and a Stomach Pump.

CHAPTER VIII. โ€” Prescriptions.

CHAPTER IX. โ€” Before the Round-up.

CHAPTER X. โ€” What Whizzer Did.

CHAPTER XI. โ€” Good Intentions.

CHAPTER XII. โ€” โ€œThe Last Stand.โ€

CHAPTER XIII. โ€” Art Critics.

CHAPTER XIV. โ€” Convalescence.

CHAPTER XV. โ€” The Spoils of Victory.

CHAPTER XVI. โ€” Weary Advises.

CHAPTER XVII. โ€” When a Maiden Wills.

CHAPTER XVIII. โ€” Dr. Cecil Granthum.

CHAPTER XIX. โ€” Love Finds Its Hour.









CHAPTER I. โ€” The Old Man's Sister.

The weekly mail had just arrived at the Flying U ranch. Shorty, who had made the trip to Dry Lake on horseback that afternoon, tossed the bundle to the โ€œOld Manโ€ and was halfway to the stable when he was called back peremptorily.

โ€œShorty! O-h-h, Shorty! Hi!โ€

Shorty kicked his steaming horse in the ribs and swung round in the path, bringing up before the porch with a jerk.

โ€œWhere's this letter been?โ€ demanded the Old Man, with some excitement. James G. Whitmore, cattleman, would have been greatly surprised had he known that his cowboys were in the habit of calling him the Old Man behind his back. James G. Whitmore did not consider himself old, though he was constrained to admit, after several hours in the saddle, that rheumatism had searched him outโ€”because of his fourteen years of roughing it, he said. Also, there was a place on the crown of his head where the hair was thin, and growing thinner every day of his life, though he did not realize it. The thin spot showed now as he stood in the path, waving a square envelope aloft before Shorty, who regarded it with supreme indifference.

Not so Shorty's horse. He rolled his eyes till the whites showed, snorted and backed away from the fluttering, white object.

โ€œDoggone it, where's this been?โ€ reiterated James G., accusingly.

โ€œHow the devil do I know?โ€ retorted Shorty, forcing his horse nearer. โ€œIn the office, most likely. I got it with the rest to-day.โ€

โ€œIt's two weeks old,โ€ stormed the Old Man. โ€œI never knew it to failโ€”if a letter says anybody's coming, or you're to hurry up and go somewhere to meet somebody, that letter's the one that monkeys around and comes when the last dog's hung. A letter asking yuh if yuh don't want to get rich in ten days sellin' books, or something, 'll hike along out here in no time. Doggone it!โ€

โ€œYou got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?โ€ queried Shorty, mildly sympathetic.

โ€œWorse than that,โ€ groaned James G. โ€œMy sister's coming out to spend the summerโ€”t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsyโ€”and she can't eat in the mess houseโ€”and the house like a junk shop!โ€

โ€œIt looks like you was up against it, all right,โ€ grinned Shorty. Shorty was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech.

โ€œSomebody's got to meet herโ€”you have Chip catch up the creams so he can go. And send some of the boys up here to help me hoe out a little. Dell ain't used to roughing it; she's just out of a medical schoolโ€”got her diploma, she was telling me in the last letter before this. She'll be finding microbes by the million in this old shack. You tell Patsy I'll be late to supperโ€”and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies likeโ€”cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that little runt in the officeโ€”โ€

But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was clattering down the long slope again to the stable. It was supper time, and Shorty was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he was curious to see how the boys would take it. He was just turning loose the horse when supper was called. He hurried back up the hill to the mess house, performed hasty ablutions in the tin wash basin on the bench beside the door, scrubbed his face dry on the roller towel, and took his place at the long table within.

โ€œAny mail for me?โ€ Jack Bates looked up from emptying the third spoon of sugar into his coffee.

โ€œNawโ€”she didn't write this time, Jack.โ€ Shorty reached a long arm for the โ€œMulligan stew.โ€

โ€œHow's the dance coming on?โ€ asked Cal Emmett.

โ€œI guess it's a go, all right. They've got them coons engaged to play. The hotel's fixing for a big crowd, if the weather holds like this. Chip, Old Man wants you to catch up the creams, after supper; you've got to meet the train to-morrow.โ€

โ€œWhich train?โ€ demanded Chip, looking up. โ€œIs old Dunk coming?โ€

โ€œThe noon train. No, he didn't say nothing about Dunk. He wants a bunch of you fellows to go up and hoe out the White House and slick it up for comp'nyโ€”got to be done t'-night. And Patsy, Old Man says for you t' git a move on and cook something fit to eat; something that ain't plum full uh microbes.โ€

Shorty became

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