Quite an assemblage of villagers had gathered to witness the operation of unloading the ponies, and they gazed with interest as each Overland girl in turn stepped up to claim her mount as it was led slipping down the gangway.

Hippy Wingate's pony, a western bronco that he had acquired that summer, was the last of the ponies in the car.

"Ginger," as its owner had named it because of its fiery temper, being unusually free with his heels, had been separated from the other animals in the car by bars, the bars now bearing marks made by his sharp hoofs.
"Tom, please fetch out my educated horse," urged Hippy, winking wisely at the crowd of spectators.
"Why not fetch him out yourself?
He isn't my horse," laughed Tom.
"Oh, very well," said Lieutenant Wingate, stepping into the car, removing the bars and reaching for the pony's headstall.

That was the beginning of what proved to be an exciting time for Lieutenant Wingate and a most enjoyable entertainment for the villagers.

The next act was when Hippy was catapulted from the car door by the heels of the untamed bronco and landed in the street.