make of it, Keith."

Keith took the glass and looked through it. It was like a moving
picture; one could see, but one wanted the interpretation of sound.

"We'd better ride over," he said quietly. "Don't worry, Miss Lansell;
it probably isn't anything serious. We can take the short cut up the
coulee, and find out." He put the glass into its leathern case and
started to the gate, where the horses were standing. He did not tell
Beatrice that Miss Hayes had just been carried into the house in
a faint, or that her mother was behaving in an undignified fashion
strongly suggesting hysterics. But Dick knew, from the look on his face,
that it was serious. He hurried before them with long strides, leaving
Beatrice, for the second time that morning, to the care of his neighbor.

So it was Keith who held his hand down for the delicious pressure of
her foot, and arranged her habit with painstaking care, considering the
hurry they were in. Dick was in the saddle, and gone, before Keith had
finished, and Keith was not a slow young man, as a rule. They ran the
two miles without a break, except twice, where there were gates to
close. Dick, speeding a furlong before, had obligingly left them open;
and a stockman is hard pressed indeed--or very drunk--when he fails to
close his gates behind him. It is an unwritten law which becomes second
nature.

Almost within sound of the place, Dick raced back and met them, and his
face was white.

"It's Dorman!" he cried. "He's lost. They haven't seen him since we
left. You know, Trix, he was standing at the gate."

Beatrice went white as Dick; whiter, for she was untanned. An
overwhelming sense of blame squeezed her heart tight. Keith, seeing her
shoulders droop limply, reined close, to catch her in his arms if there
was the slightest excuse. However, Beatrice was a healthy young woman,
with splendid command of her nerves, and she had no intention of
fainting. The sickening weakness passed in a moment.

"It's my fault," she said, speaking rapidly, her eyes seeking Dick's for
comfort. "I said 'yes' to everything he asked me, because I was thinking
of something else, and not paying attention. He was going to buy your
horse, Mr. Cameron, and now he's lost!"

This, though effective, was not particularly illuminating. Dick wanted
details, and he got them--for Beatrice, having remorse to stir the dregs
of memory, repeated nearly everything Dorman had said, even telling
how the big, high pony put