



Produced by Matthew H. Heller






CHIP, OF THE FLYING U

By B. M. Bower (B. M. Sinclair)


AUTHOR OF "The Lure of the Dim Trails," "Her Prairie Knight," "The
Lonesome Trail," etc.

Illustrations by CHARLES M. RUSSELL



LIST OF CONTENTS


     I      The Old Man's Sister
     II     Over the "Hog's Back"
     III    Silver
     IV     An Ideal Picture
     V      In Silver's Stall
     VI     The Hum of Preparation
     VII    Love and a Stomach Pump
     VIII   Prescriptions
     IX     Before the Round-up
     X      What Whizzer Did
     XI     Good Intentions
     XII    "The Last Stand"
     XIII   Art Critics
     XIV    Convalescence
     XV     The Spoils of Victory
     XVI    Weary Advises
     XVII   When a Maiden Wills
     XVIII  Dr Cecil Granthum
     XIX    Love Finds Its Hour


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Came down with not a joint in his legs and turned a somersault

"The Last Stand."

Throwing herself from the saddle she slid precipitately into the
washout, just as Denver thundered up




CHAPTER I. -- 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 "Old Man" and was halfway to the stable when he was called back
peremptorily.

"Shorty! O-h-h, Shorty! Hi!"

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

"Where's this letter been?" 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 out--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.

"Doggone it, where's this been?" reiterated James G., accusingly.

"How the devil do I know?" retorted Shorty, forcing his horse nearer.
"In the office, most likely. I got it with the rest to-day."

"It's two weeks old," stormed the Old Man. "I never knew it to fail--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!"

"You got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?" queried Shorty, mildly
sympathetic.

"Worse than that," groaned James G. "My sister's coming out to spend the
summer--t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsy--and she can't eat in the mess
house--and the house like a junk shop!"

"It looks like you was up against it, all right," grinned Shorty. Shorty
was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech.

"Somebody's got to meet her--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 school--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 supper--and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies
like--cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that
little runt in the