taring not at hillsides nor spring skies, but into the far
horizons.

Since he recovered from that purely human rage against this youth who
had betrayed him to his dearest enemy, the Judge had been watching,
with all his old interest, the surface indications of Eleanor's moods.
Last night, it had been a kind of gaiety; to-day the mood was quiet,
but not at all despondent; there was life in it. Judge Tiffany held
his own views on the relations between his niece and Bertram Chester,
and on the right or convenience of interfering. Twice he had been on
the point of telling her that his feeling toward Bertram Chester
should not color hers; that his house was still open to the young
man. But the curiosity of philosophical age to see how things will
turn out had prevented him.

It was just as well. They were on the eve of their summer flight to
the ranch, where she would have other things to think about than young
men. That was his half-expressed theme when he spoke:

"Well, girl, will you be glad to get back to work again? You missed
last summer."

Eleanor started as out of sleep.

"I think I am glad of everything!" she said cryptically. As though to
turn the subject, she indicated a buckboard which was coming down an
intersecting by-road at crazy speed.

"Why are they driving so fast?"

The Goodyear driver turned with the familiarity of a country
henchman.

"That's the doctor's rig from Las Olivas," he said, "and he's sure
going some!" Followed a monologue on the doctor and his habits.

About the next bend of the road, a little boy rushed from a wayside
camp which looked strangely deserted for supper-time of Sunday
afternoon. He waved both arms before his face.

"Hey, mister, take me to the wreck!"

"What wreck, kid?"

"The five-ten is over the trestle, and they went off and left me!"

Judge Tiffany took the information calmly, even selfishly. "I wonder
if we'd better turn back and give it up to-night, or go on?"

Eleanor spoke with a catch of the breath, a drawn-in tone.

"Go on! Oh, tell him to go on!"

The Judge peered at her. She was pale, but, as always in her crises,
the curtain of inscrutability made her face a mask. "Oh, do go on!"
she repeated. Then, as though it all needed explanation, she added:

"We might be able to help!"

"Drive on, then--fast!"

Absolutely passive, Eleanor swayed a little with the trap, but made no
motion of her own. Indeed, there was little motion within. The train
h