ve no satisfactory reason
for it, but she felt as if something had passed out of her life forever.
It was as if the bubbling youth in her were quenched. The outstanding
note of her had been the eagerness with which she had run out to meet
new experiences. Now she found herself shrinking from them. Whenever she
could the girl was glad to slip away by herself. To the charge that she
was in love with this young vagabond she would have given a prompt
denial. Nevertheless, Lady Farquhar recognized the symptoms as
dangerous.

On the fifth day after the Gunnison trip the young people at the Lodge
made a party to fish Sunbeam Creek. They followed the stream far into
the hills, riding along the trail which bordered it. Kilmeny and
Verinder carried lunch baskets, for they were to make a day of it and
return only in time for a late dinner.

Moya made her brave pretense of gayety. With alacrity she responded to
Verinder's challenge of a bet on the relative sizes of their catches.
But as soon as the rest were out of sight she sat down in a shady spot
and fell to musing.

How long she sat there, a sun-dappled nymph upon whom gleams of light
filtered through the leaves of the aspens, she had not the least idea.
The voice of a grizzled rider startled her from her dreams. Her lifted
eyes took in the grim look of the man, garnished with weapons ready to
his hands.

"Mornin', miss," he nodded amiably.

"Good-morning." And swift on the heels of it, "You are a deputy sheriff,
are you not?"

"Rung the bell, ma'am. You belong to the English outfit, I reckon."

She smiled. "I suppose so, though I don't know what an outfit is."

"I mean to Lord What's-his-name's party."

"Yes, I think I do. I'm rather sure of it."

"Funny about some members of your crowd having the same name as the man
we're looking for."

"Mr. Kilmeny, you mean?"

"Jack Kilmeny! Yes, ma'am."

"He introduced himself to us, but I don't think the name he went by was
Kilmeny. I was told it was Crumbs."

"That's just a joke. His friends call him that because his people are
'way up in G. Fine bred--crumbs. Get the idea?"

"I think so."

"Came from the old country, his father did--son of some big gun over
there. Likely he's some kin to your friends."

He put the last observation as a question, with a sharp glance from
under his heavy gray eyebrows. Moya chose to regard it as a statement.

"Are you still searching for him?" she asked.

"You bet we are. The sh