urgency, they would have unhitched the
horses and gone home, leaving the wagons to such fate as might overtake
them. As it was, the caravan moved slowly onward, with many haltings and
much of weariness.

It was midnight when, at last, the flare of the torches told Barbara
that the journey was done. Not knowing whither the wagons should be
taken, Barbara bade Bob go and find Duncan.

When the young man heard of Barbara's arrival, he and Dick Temple
hurried to her, full of apprehension lest the journey and the exposure
should have made her ill, and fuller still of fear that the conditions
of life in the camp might prove to involve more of hardship than she
could bear. For the first time in his life, Guilford Duncan felt like
scolding.

"What on earth are you doing here, Barbara?" he asked, and before he
could add anything to the question, she playfully answered:

"Just now, I'm waiting for you to tell the teamsters where to drive the
wagons."

"But Barbara----"

"Never mind the rest of your scolding. I've already rehearsed it in my
imagination till I know it all by heart--forwards and backwards. Tell
the men where the cooking place is."

"But what are we to do with you, in all this flood and mud, and in the
incessant rain?"

"Just let me alone while I 'help in earnest,' as you said in your
dispatch that you wanted me to do. You telegraphed me that you wanted
two good cooks, so here we are, Bob and I. For, really, Bob has learned
to cook as well as I can. I only wonder you didn't send for us sooner.
Now, we mustn't waste any more time talking. I've got to set to work if
the men are to have their breakfast on time, and there's a lot of
unloading to do before I can get at the things."

The girl's voice was strained and her manner not quite natural. The long
anxiety and the cold and the weariness had begun to tell upon her. She
was strong and resolute still, and ready for any physical effort or
endurance that might be required of her. But she felt that she could
stand no more of emotional strain. So, speaking low to Duncan, in order
that his friend might not hear, she said:

"Please, Guilford, don't say anything more that your tenderness
suggests. I can't stand it. Be just commonplace and practical. Show the
teamsters the way and let me get to work. I'll be happier then and
better."

Duncan understood and was wise enough to obey. Half an hour later he and
Temple had gone back to the crib, leaving Barbara to dir