Dick just
went driving by at a gallop, without a word, toward Archer's Springs."

Von Minden scowled, started to speak, was silent, then said: "What do
you think was the matter?"

"Let's go find out," urged Ernest.

The three men, Peter trailing at the rear, started hurriedly along the
half obliterated trail toward the ranch.

The stillness after the day of warfare was heavenly. The violet of the
sky had changed to the blue of larkspur, that now was shot with lacey
streamers, rose pink from the setting sun. An oriole, balancing itself
on Dick's line fence, poured forth a melody of transporting sweetness.

"O, by Jove!" exclaimed Roger suddenly, "look at Dick's alfalfa!"

The oriole fluttered away as they approached the fence. The field had
not drifted badly. The draw to the north had prevented that. But the
bright green shadow on the yellow sand of which Gustav had told them in
the morning, was no more. A huge blight lay on the field with every
tender plant blackened and dead.

"Poor old Dick!" groaned Ernest. Then he added plaintively, "But he's no
tenderfoot. He knows desert storms. Why did he attempt it?"

"A storm like this, this time of year, is unheard of," said Von Minden.
"Close to the mountain like this, Dick was choosing a good spot. See
there are few drifts. Poor fellow!"

There were actual tears in Ernest's blue eyes as he looked at the
blackened field. "Let's get to the girls," he urged.

At the corral gate they met Gustav.

"What's the trouble, Gustav?" cried Roger.

"Dick he vent to the field down to see how the alfalfa vas, then he came
running like a mad man. He scolded Fraeulein Charley like it vas her
fault, then he ran to the corral, hitched up and vent."

"But didn't you try to stop him?" demanded Roger.

"Not Fraeulein Charley. She just sat on the step and little Felicia on
her lap and say nothing. But I vent to the corral to talk to Dick and he
told me to go to hell. He vas a mad man, I tell you. Now I go milk."

Charley, at the sound of voices, came out to the steps. "Hello, Uncle
Otto," she called. The men looked up at her. Her tanned cheeks were
flushed, her fine square shoulders were tense. But her voice was gay:

"Have you and Mr. Moore had your duel?"

"It's postponed," replied Crazy Dutch.

Felicia scrambled past her sister and ran down to Roger: "Dick went away
mad," she exclaimed. "He scolded Charley and me awful and made me cry. I
hate to cry. It hurts my insides so.