ays later, when "boots and
saddles" would be the order of the day. "And the trails are not bad,
Anne," said Louise. "When you get used to them, you'll forget all about
them, but your pony won't. He'll be just as deliberate and anxious about
your safety, and his, at the end of the week as he was at the
beginning."

"Imagine! A week of riding about these mountains! How Billy would have
enjoyed it, Doctor."

"Yes. But I believe he is having a pretty good time where he is."

"We wish he could be here, Anne," said Louise. "I've never met your
brother. He's always been away when I have been East."

"Which has been his misfortune," said Dr. Marshall.

"He writes such beautiful letters about the desert and his mining
claim,--that's his latest fad,--and says he's much stronger. But I
believe they all say that--when they have his trouble, you know."

"From Billy's last letter, I should say he was in pretty fair shape,"
said the doctor. "He's living outdoors and at a good altitude, somewhere
on the desert. He's making money. He posts his letters at a town called
'Dagget,' in this State."

"Up above San Berdoo," said Walter Stone. And he straightway drifted
into reverie, gazing at the bright end of his cigar until it faded in
the darkness.

"Hello!" exclaimed Dr. Marshall, leaning forward. "Sounds like the
exhaust of a pretty heavy car. I didn't imagine any one would drive that
canon road after dark."

"Unusual," said Stone, getting to his feet. "Some one in a hurry. I'll
turn on the porch-light and defy the mosquitoes."

With a leonine roar and a succeeding clatter of empty cylinders, an
immense racing-car stopped at the gate below. The powerful headlight
shot a widening pathway through the night. Voices came indistinctly from
the vicinity of the machine. Before Walter Stone had reached the bottom
step of the porch, a huge figure appeared from out the shadows. In the
radiance of the porch-light stood a wonderfully attired stranger. Frock
coat, silk hat, patent leathers, striped trousers, and pearl gaiters, a
white vest, and a noticeable watch-chain adorned the driver of the
automobile. He stood for a minute, blinking in the light. Then he swept
his hat from his head with muscular grace. "Excuse me for intrudin'," he
said. "I seen this glim and headed for it. Is Mr. Walter Stone at
lee-sure?"

"I'm Walter Stone," said the rancher, somewhat mystified.

"My name's Summers, Jack Summers, proprietor of the Rose Girl Mine