er apron over her head and
refused to be comforted; Uncle Zack was equally depressed, realizing the
loneliness and longing for the girls that they would soon feel.

Five khaki figures now sped down the road toward the caravan with
Donald, who was trying to assist with the bundles. Seated in the
driver's seat, with Carlos next him, and cracking a long whip, was Jim
Colter. Every speck of his grouchiness had disappeared; his eyes were as
shining and his lips as smiling as Frieda's.

"Good-by, Mr. Harmon," Jack said, smiling half sadly at Donald. "Please
take good care of things for us at the ranch. I feel almost like a
traitor in turning my back on my home."

Donald laughed. "Oh, don't worry," he answered kindly. "You will find
things just as you left them when you get back. You know we want to
borrow, not to steal your place." And for some reason neither Jack nor
Donald ever forgot his words.

The horn sounded again; Jim turned his horses with their noses toward
the western sun, when suddenly there was a loud clanging from the great
bell that hung in front of the rancho to summon the cowboys from across
the fields. Six cowboys rode in toward the caravan in as many different
directions. As the big wagon wheels crunched in the sand with the
pack-horses trailing behind and Olive's and Jack's ponies alongside, the
six cowboys formed a semicircle, the emblem of the Rainbow Ranch, and
cracking their whips in unison let out a tremendous yell. It was the
call the Indians use before going into battle and it might have frozen
the blood of the uninitiated, but the ranch girls knew it meant good
luck and went away with the sound ringing in their ears.

The caravan party did not feel they had started on their journey until
they crossed the border of their own ranch. The land beyond was
familiar enough, but this afternoon it was invested with a new charm. It
was a new world, because they had set out on a voyage of discovery, so
it was disenchanting when they had ridden a few miles beyond their own
place to discover another caravan, smaller and far shabbier than theirs,
but still a caravan, drawn up by the side of a solitary tree along the
road. A ragged girl nursing a baby was resting in the grass and an old
woman was bending over a freshly lit camp-fire. There was no man in
sight, but Jim recognized the wayfarers with a sudden tightening of his
lips before any one of the girls spoke.

"Why, there are our gypsies!" Jean declared