ott
preserving a reasonably cheerful face, in spite of the fact that he hated
late starts. It was a beautiful morning; the sky, blue and cloudless, the
air fresh and invigorating with the crispness of early spring, the radiant
clearness of the atmosphere making neighbors of the mountains, all
combined to make a tonic which showed signs of going to Polly's head.
After all, there are few sensations like the starting out upon a horseback
trip; the mare's springy trot, the freshness of her own healthy body, even
the feel of the bridle reins brought her joy.

"You look mighty happy," commented Hard. "It must be pleasant to be
twenty-three."

Polly laughed. "It is," she admitted. "But I'm going to be just as happy
at forty-three. I've found the recipe."

"Will you sell it to me? My next one happens to be my forty-second. I'll
be needing it soon."

"I'll make you a present of it. Stay out-of-doors and keep on doing
things. Of course, I haven't tried it for forty-three years, but I feel in
my bones that it will work."

"I never could see, myself, how people could spend twenty-two out of their
twenty-four hours under a roof, the way most of them do," said Scott,
thoughtfully. "Here, we turn now into the trail."

"That's where Pachuca's men went yesterday," said Polly. "I hope we don't
meet them."

"No danger of that. Those fly-by-nights are a long way from here by this
time."

"They told me yesterday in Conejo that Obregon had been put under arrest
in Mexico City. If that's true it may put a cog in the revolutionary
machinery," said Hard.

"I wish we'd managed to keep our hands on that automobile," remarked
Scott, wistfully. "I don't half fancy trying to make the border in a
wagon, and no one knows how the railroads will be."

The trail debouched from the road, running over ground very slightly
elevated. There was for some distance no particular reason as far as Polly
could see for its being a trail at all except that it hadn't been
sufficiently traveled to make it a road. It was merely a narrow little
path leading over some very barren-looking country, but leading ever
upward, gradually but surely, toward the hills.

"You see, the regular road runs fairly straight along toward Conejo for
maybe twenty miles, and then meets a crossroad which runs past Casa
Grande," explained Scott. "Now, with this trail, we cut directly across
those foothills, over a couple of ranges of mountains, across a big mesa
and down. Casa G