ith proud eyes. They had
ridden hurriedly away, realizing that they were already late if they
wanted Sagebrush Point for a camping-place; and three miles below the
cabin Vivian had discovered the loss of her wrist-watch, a birthday gift
from her father.

"Don't you worry a bit, Vivian," Virginia said, reassuringly, as she urged
Pedro up the steep trail. "We'd just as soon ride back as not, and I
wouldn't have you lose the watch for the world. Of course the ranger would
keep it safe for us, but there's no knowing when we could get away up here
again. It's best to go now when we're only three miles away."

"I'm dead sure it's right on the table," said Carver. "I saw you put it
there, Vivian, when you got ready to wash the dishes."

Carver Standish was right. The watch was on the table where she had left
it. The cabin seemed more lonely than ever as they hurried away. The rush
of the river hundreds of feet below, the drowsy hum of the August insects,
and the sound of their horses' feet upon the stones alone broke the
silence. Vivian shivered.

"I hate it here, now," she said. "Let's hurry back to the others."

But it was impossible to hurry down the steep, rocky trail. The horses
were tired, and a misstep or a stumble would be dangerous. Pedro, sure of
himself on any trail, led the way, and Vivian and Carver followed, weaving
right and left down the mountain side. More than once Carver glanced
apprehensively at his watch. It was growing late--nearly five
already!--and Virginia had told Donald they would be at Sagebrush Point at
six! It was impossible. They could never make it!

Vivian was worried, too. She hated the shadows that began to creep in
among the trees, the lonely call of a bird in the timber, the coolness
that came as the afternoon waned. She shivered again, when at the first
ford, where they had separated more than an hour before, the rawhide
thongs in one of her stirrups broke, and caused a second delay.

Carver's none too agile fingers laced and re-tied the thong. Virginia
allowed Pedro to nibble at the quaking-asps and tried to be patient while
she watched the repairing. More than once she was tempted to jump from her
saddle and do the work herself, but she knew that Carver would resent the
intrusion. Carver Standish III heartily disliked any intimation that he
was a tenderfoot. Safe and satisfied in the citadel of New England birth
and ancestry, he still was averse to any suggestion of inferiority in