ailed herself of the privilege, and
slipped into her place beside Eveley.

"If you suffer in the night, please ask me to help you," she begged. "I
will not sleep, but I do not wish to speak until I know you are awake."

"You must sleep," said Eveley.

But Marie did not sleep. Sometimes Eveley would moan a little, turning
heavily, and then, without a sound, Marie was out of bed, replacing the
bandages with fresh ones, crooning softly over Eveley as a mother over a
suffering child.

Fortunately the next day was Sunday, and Eveley remained quietly on a
couch, with Marie waiting upon her like a tender Madonna. Nolan came up,
too, and insisted upon the full story of what had happened.

"I fell," said Eveley positively.

"You did not fall on your shoulder-blades," he said. "You girls have been
up to some monkey business, and I want to know."

After long insistence, Eveley told him of the night's adventure, Marie
sitting erect and rigid during the recital.

"Where did you go, Marie?" he asked, in deep concern.

"I went too far," she confessed regretfully. "But it was an exquisite
night, and I was happy. I went down farther and farther, and did not
realize it. Suddenly I looked up, and knew I was far, far down. I turned
at once.--Then some one called. A man's voice. I ran, and the steps came
pounding after me."

"You must not go into the canyon at night again, please, Marie. You are
too young. And--the canyon goes away down to the water-front where there
are a lot of Greasers and--I mean, half-breeds," he stammered quickly,
"all kinds of foreigners along the road down there! You must stay on top
of your canyon and be good."

The next morning, although Eveley knew her arms were too stiff and sore
for work, she decided to go to the office anyhow to see the day well
started.

"They will send me home, and I shall be here for luncheon with you. I can
not drive yet, so I'll just cross the bridge and go on the street-car."

As she stood on the swinging bridge, looking down into the lovely canyon,
it seemed impossible that there in the friendly shadows such horrible
dangers had menaced them. Of a sudden impulse, she ran back, and climbed
carefully down to where she had clung so grimly to the tangled vines and
had knocked Marie's assailant from the path.

No, it was no dream. The vines were torn and mangled and on the path were
the marks of trampling feet, and peering down the canyon she could
discern two distinct trail