r very uneasiness seemed to prove that
there was more than enough cause for it. Yet, when she forced herself
to stop and think, it was all about nothing. Frank had driven to Echo
and had not returned exactly on time, though a dozen things might have
detained him.

She was listening at the door when Swan appeared unexpectedly before
her, having walked over from the Thurman ranch after doing the chores.
To him she observed that Frank was an hour late, and Swan, whistling
softly to Jack--Lorraine was surprised to hear how closely the call
resembled the chirp of a bird--strode away without so much as a
pretence at excuse. Lorraine stared after him wide-eyed, wondering and
yet not daring to wonder.

Her father called to her fretfully, and she went in to him again and
told him what Sorry had said about the cracked doubletree, and
persuaded him to let her bring his supper at once, and to have the
fruit later when Frank arrived. Brit did not say much, but she sensed
his uneasiness, and her own increased in proportion. Later she saw two
tiny, glowing points down by the corral and knew that Sorry and Jim
were down there, waiting and listening, ready to do whatever was needed
of them; although what that would be she could not even conjecture.

She made her father comfortable, chattered aimlessly to combat her
understanding of his moody silence, and listened and waited and tried
her pitiful best not to think that anything could be wrong. The
subdued chuckling of the wagon in the sand outside the gate startled
her with its unmistakable reality after so many false impressions that
she heard it.

"Frank's coming, dad," she announced relievedly, "and I'll go and get
the mail and the fruit."

She ran down the path again, almost light-hearted in her relief from
that vague terror which had held her for the past hour. From the
corral Sorry and Jim came walking up the path to meet the wagon which
was making straight for the bunkhouse instead of going first to the
stable. One man rode on the seat, driving the team which walked
slowly, oddly, reminding Lorraine of a funeral procession. Beside the
wagon rode Lone, his head drooped a little in the starlight. It was
not until the team stopped before the bunk-house that Lorraine knew
what it was that gave her that strange, creepy feeling of disaster. It
was not Frank Johnson, but Swan Vjolmar who climbed limberly down from
the seat without speaking and turned toward the back of t