e pitiful part of it,--to protect herself,
she had warned him to be on his guard. She began dressing herself with
trembling fingers. She would go to him and tell him all. Let him think
what he might, she would tell him all, unsparing of herself. She parted
the flaps of the tent and stepped out into the night. Outside, she
paused for a moment. The soft gray of the moonlight, lying white on the
silent tents, the sighing of the pines, the distant, bell-like notes of
calling wood-birds, spoke to her of peace that stilled her acute fears.
Then she became conscious of another sound; a throbbing, muffled roar
that made the night air tremulous.

She changed the direction of her steps. On the bridge that spanned the
waste weir, she looked down on the swirling waters that rushed over the
floor of the weir. For a moment she paused, then went out over the
foot-board of the dam. The gate house rose black from the waters that
lapped against the dam. Inside the gate house, every wheel and gear was
in place. Once more in the open air, her tense feelings relaxed. She
laughed at her fears. Her resolution hardened. In the morning she would
tell Ralph everything. The relaxation from the strain of the night
induced a sleep that kept her late in bed. When she joined the others,
Ralph had gone. The party were to camp that night at the mouth of the
canyon, where he would meet them the following day for lunch. Helen was
disappointed. At first she thought of riding ahead and hunting out
Ralph, but she knew him, and the idea of overtaking him was absurd. She
restrained herself with as much patience as she could command, but her
senses were on the alert.

The ponies were saddled and bridled, waiting for them when breakfast was
over. Helen was surprised at this. She well knew the spirit of manana,
which, with the lesser virtues had come down to the descendants of the
Spanish cavaliers. She was therefore surprised at the alert, beady eyes
of the swarthy Mexicans, in place of the dreamy lassitude to which she
was accustomed. The surprise was ephemeral and soon passed away; but she
was to recall it later.

The following morning when the party was again under way, Helen rode up
to Uncle Sid.

"Uncle Sid, you ride down to the camp with the crowd, and I'll meet you
there at noon. I'm going this way." She pointed to a trail which
branched off from the main line.

"What for?" Uncle Sid asked bluntly.

Helen could hardly answer satisfactorily to hers