Polly in the Southwest

Once more they were traveling along the road which runs to Clarkdale, and hopes were in the ascendant that Sedona would be reached by sundown. Very few travelers were met that day, and when, just before turning off the main road, to reach Sedona, a very fine automobile was spied, like a tiny dot, coming from the opposite direction, it attracted general attention.

The two cars turned into the Sedona road with but a few minutes’ difference in time—Mr. Dalken’s car led, however. As the chauffeur found a good bit of road ahead, he turned and spoke through the tube at his side.

“I know the driver of that car, sir. He comes from Williams, and has been down to Flagstaff twice this past ten days. He had a man from Prescott, who’s been looking out for some men to arrive from Chicago, but they didn’t show up. I reckon Mr. Dunlap got tired of waiting around, and is on his way back to the ranch where he hopes to make a clean-up.”

“Do you know the man called Dunlap?” asked Mr. Dalken, giving his friends a silencing look, when they would have exclaimed at the surprising information just heard from their chauffeur.

“Only from hearsay. Jim—that’s the owner of that rear car—says he’s very flush with his coin, and hired the car for a week. I saw the man at Flagstaff the last time he waited there for the men he expected.”

“Did Jim hear who the men were—the ones that didn’t show up?” asked Mr. Dalken, trying hard to keep the eagerness out of his tones as he spoke.

“No; but I overheard him ask the agent at the railway station if he was quite certain that three men did not come from Chicago and get off at Flagstaff. And the agent said he was sure! He also told Dunlap that the only men to arrive at Flagstaff in the week, were three from Ash Fork, but they were not millionaires, because they were dressed like any other hard-working chaps—not a diamond or spare penny to be seen.”

“You seem to be an observing young man, chauffeur,” ventured Mr. Fuzzier.

“It pays to observe sometimes—specially when things are humming right under one’s nose. Now I observed that you three men came from Ash Fork, but I should not say you were hard-working men—that is, with your hands. Your brains might work hard. I’ve done a little amateur detective work now and then, and I’ve enjoyed it. If I had to keep my comings and going dark, and should folks keep tabs on my movements from Chicago on to a certain spot in Arizona, I’d buy a ticket to Ash Fork and then back-trail to Flagstaff—as you three men have done this time. Am I right?”

His three passengers laughed outright; then Mr. Dalken replied: “You have over-stepped the line, young man. We did come from Ash Fork, as you noticed, but we had no movements to keep dark. In fact, we traveled with a gay and noisy party of young people, and stopped at every town along the Sante Fé where there were sights to be seen, or places to be visited. So, you see, it is merely a coincidence that there are three of us, and your man Dunlap had been expecting three men, also. Besides I am from New York, and Mr. Alexander is from Denver, so there is another count gone wrong.”

“What’s your name, driver?” now asked Mr. Fuzzier, taking a pen and address book from his pocket.

“I’m Bill Beldon, a native of Gallup, but doin’ business in Flagstaff. It’s busy there in the summer season.”

“Well, Beldon, I’m going to confide a little secret to you and surprise my friends here at the same time. If I make it worth your while to help me out of this fix, and keep your lips sealed about what you see or hear, will you stand by me?” Mr. Fuzzier winked at his two companions for silence, and Bill Beldon was instantly interested in this new development of what he considered a fine case for a detective.

“All right, Beldon. I’ll take your word, in front of these two witnesses, to be as good as a bond. Now, gentlemen, prepare for the surprise: I’m one of those men from Chicago, but the other two did not come. And I’m the man the agent Dunlap is after, but I do not wish him to catch up with me. Now, then, if Beldon can step on the gas and get us to our destination half an hour or so before Jim gets there, I’ll make it well worth his efforts.”

“By the Great Horned Spoon!” exclaimed Mr. Alexander, winking at a great rate, as he tried to make his voice sound full of surprise at what he had just heard.

“You are the closest mouthed man for a friend that I ever had,” added Mr. Dalken. “You never told me a word of this secret.”

“Why should I? I wouldn’t have told you now, only Beldon has shown me that it is best to confide in the three of you. Well, Bill, what’s your answer?” laughed Mr. Fuzzier.

“Oh, I’m your man, all right! I’ll sign my name to a paper if you can manage to draw it up whiles this car is jogging over the road,” exclaimed Beldon, eagerly.

“Look behind us, Dalken, and see how far away that other car is?” advised Mr. Fuzzier. “And, Alex., you get out the box of lunch we had packed for the girls—I grabbed it up and shoved it under the seat, when it was decided that we start at once for the ranch.”

Mr. Dalken did as he was requested, but his report quickly drove all thoughts of lunch from their minds. “That other car has caught up with us—it is not more than twenty feet behind this one.”

Then Mr. Fuzzier caught the tube and spoke to Beldon: “If you let that other car pass you, Bill, you don’t get a cent. I’m a fine friend, but I’m a nasty enemy. Now get busy and keep that friend of yours in the rear—better still, get speed up and run away from him. I’d even bail you out of jail if you cracked the tires on that rear car. Understand how important this thing is?”

“I sure do! And Jim can’t go back and say he made me take his gasoline smoke!” retorted Beldon, starting off at high speed, the moment a good bit of road was found.

Between Mr. Dalken and Mr. Fuzzier, the rear car was kept constantly in sight—now it drew nearer, then Beldon forged ahead; then the rear car would drop back, because the leading car would gain a long lap in the race. But the end was not yet, since Dunlap was not the man to lose out in a speculative deal whereby he had hoped to profit. He now knew from Algy that the three men he had been expecting had arrived in Flagstaff, but they had not registered at the hotel, as he had thought they would do. He cursed himself for thinking that three millionaires would travel to Arizona to inspect a mining property, and wear clothes or gems to advertise their wealth. He should have known better, he thought.

Another thing that Dunlap had done, which had been a brilliant idea, was inviting the insignificant little heir of a fortune to tour with him. Algy had accepted gladly, but he had no idea of the tortures he would have to endure while on that trip. He had looked for a comfortable, enjoyable drive along fine state roads. Instead, he was compelled to endure jolts and jars that shook his frail little form as it had not been shaken since his heavy-handed father had died. Puny Algy did not like this method of traveling, but he had to go on, because Mr. Dunlap declared he could not turn back, nor was there any way Algy could reach a house or hamlet until the end of the journey.

Dunlap had no intention of letting this member of the Dalken party slip from his grasp, so he stood Algy’s whimperings, and tried to soothe his plaintive begging to be sent back to dear Mrs. Alexander!

CHAPTER XI
WHAT HAPPENED ON HUMPHREY’S PEAK

Jack’s party drove to Humphrey’s Peak as had been planned, and there they found that the automobile road leading part way up the mountain was in splendid condition. Therefore they decided to try to reach the peak, and get the marvelous view from the summit.

All went well while the good road continued, but once they got to the place where it became necessary to leave the car and take to horses, it was not quite comfortable. The guide thought they were taking chances against the weather—it had been cloudy all morning and the weather bureau had prophesied flurries of snow during the day.

“A little snow won’t melt us hardened tourists!” exclaimed Eleanor, laughingly.

“Not after one has lived through Flat Top blizzards,” added Polly, springing into the saddle on the horse she was to ride.

“That’s all right, miss, but October is the latest month the guides think safe for folks to try for the peak. If you-all insist upon going up, I can take you, but it must be at your own risk, remember,” explained the man.

“The weather has been unusually warm and open,” said Jack, coaxingly, “and we are sure there is no risk to take.”

“The guide ought to know his territory better than we do, Jack,” argued Mrs. Courtney, troubled at what would be best to do.

“Oh, come on, folks!” commanded Dodo, impatiently.

“Yes, do come on, or the day will pass in arguing,” abetted Jack, jumping into the saddle.

“Well, if you-all will promise me not to go beyond the zone which I think safe and will agree to turn and come back the moment I signify the return, I’ll take you,” finally agreed the guide.

“Don’t you do it, if there is any unusual risk,” begged Mrs. Courtney, anxiously.

“No, I won’t! If the young people will promise me that, it will be perfectly safe,” returned the man.

Being so eager to start for the climb, the four younger members of the group promised instantly. And off they started.

The altitude of Humphrey’s Peak is 12,750 feet, and the approach to the summit is made over a gradually ascending road and trail made through mighty forests of pine. Aspens grow in thick profusion here and there—so thick, indeed, that one could not thread a way between the trunks without chopping away the obstruction. Reaching timber line, however, nothing grows beyond to hide the bare crags which continue on up to the very summit.

On the ride through the magnificent forest the guide told of the extensive view to be had from the peak—directly north, fifty miles away, one could see the walls of the Grand Canyon; still farther, were the Buckskin Mountains of the Kaibab Plateau; to the north-east one might see the Painted Desert, and beyond that the Navajo Mountain. Then, turning southward, one could see the White Mountains; and, gazing westward, one saw the Mogollon Plateau and other famous ranges. The Santa Fé railroad threaded the valley east and west like a winding serpent with head and tail hidden from sight. Small towns and settlements dotted the country, and gave the necessary action to the wonderful picture.

“But I doubt if you will see these sights to-day, friends,” concluded the guide. “If you reach timberline without freezing in the saddle, you will do well.”

“I’m sure you do not appreciate our hardihood,” declared Polly impatiently. “I was brought up in the Rocky Mountains, near the highest peaks, and I am accustomed to this life.”

“You forget, Polly, that several years in New York City, in steam-heated houses, and the enervating life we live there, may have changed your hardihood,” remarked Mrs. Courtney, gently.

“Oh, well! that remains to be seen,” retorted Polly.

Nothing more was said about the hazards to be met on the way, and thereafter every one felt buoyant and happy, because of the delight in riding good horses and the exhilarating air of the mountains.

Up and up and up climbed the well-trained horses, and finally the guide called a halt to rest the beasts. The riders leaped from the saddles and stretched their legs and arms for a time, then walked around to investigate the plateau. Only a few minutes were allowed for the rest, then the guide called them to re-mount. As they ran to obey, Jack thought he saw a snowflake whirl across his vision. But he would not report it.

By the time all were ready to resume the ride, Jack was sure he saw another flake of snow falling slowly upon the horn of his saddle, still he would not speak of it.

But the guide had noticed the few scattered bits of snow, and he was determined to take no chances with his party. He led the way to a crosstrail on the mountain-side, and took the side trail instead of the one which ascended directly ahead of the riders. He planned to follow this gradually ascending road for a time, and, should the flurry of snow prove nothing more, he could regain the main trail farther on where another crosstrail struck upward. In case the snow came down heavier, and threatened to continue, he could lead his party back down the mountain from that crosstrail.

But a careful guide’s plans may go astray, even like the wise mice in the fable, and so it happened with Job Barnes.

The pines were noticeably shorter and more slender as the trail ascended higher and higher, and it was also seen that the trees looked tougher and many of them bore scars left by the winter storms. Many were twisted and their tops blunted from the fierce gales and blizzards which swept like cyclones over the peaks. But the trail continued good and interesting, and the little cavalcade rode on with many a merry jest and carefree laugh.

Finally they entered a thick forest of aspens through which the trail accommodated no more than one horse at a time. It was after riding halfway through the length of this forest, that a sudden gale of wind came down from the peaks, and with it came a great cloud of snow. Instantly the air became choked with fine snow, and the temperature dropped suddenly so that every one in the party began to shiver and shake. The horses, rebelling against going on in the face of this cold blizzard, balked, but they could not turn in the narrow tunnel between the aspens.

Fortunately the guide rode first, and Jack brought up the rear, so that the horses of the girls could not back nor forge ahead in order to get away from where they were.

“What shall we do?” shouted Jack, to get orders from the guide.

“Wait for a few moments and see if she blows over.”

So they all sat as though frozen to the saddles, while the guide tied a rope to the horn of his saddle and then jumped from his horse and carried the rope back to tie a loop to each saddle in the line behind his horse. When Jack’s horse, the last one, had been thus hitched up in line, the guide advised him.

“Don’t let your horse balk or stampede. Use your spurs, if necessary, to control him. We’re near a nasty bit of road that runs along the rim of a rocky ravine, and I’d like to keep this side of it if I can manage the animals so they will move slowly. I might have to chop down enough aspens to allow the horses to turn, so we can ride back the way we came, but chopping trees takes time, and I brought but one axe.”

“Oh, we’ll be all right,” was Jack’s assurance. “Just go on carefully, and warn us when we reach the gulch.”

Another ten minutes was given to a slow progress along the narrow trail, and, then, the storm growing heavier, the guide decided to dismount and begin to cut down enough aspens to permit a turn in the trail. As he jumped down, however, his feet became entangled in some way in the rope which he had tied to his saddle, and he fell. His foot struck upon a slippery projection of rock, and, turning over, down he crashed with a groan, bringing his heavy weight upon the twisted member.

The full import of this accident did not filter into the brains of the other riders for a second; then Jack saw the guide slump in a heap and he knew the man had fainted in spite of his endeavors to remain conscious.

“Great Scott! Barnes is knocked out! He must have hurt himself seriously!” cried Jack, springing from his saddle.

Polly was so experienced in handling situations of this nature that she quickly got down from her horse and hurried to the side of the injured guide. Before Jack could lift Barnes’ head, Polly was beside him and had placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

“Just make him as comfortable upon the ground as possible, Jack, and then help me straighten out his leg. Perhaps it is not badly hurt,” advised she.

Thus, while the other three riders waited anxiously, watching from their horses, Jack and Polly helped the guide to a more natural position, and Jack fumbled for a possible flask of whiskey in the man’s pockets.

Polly began to unlace the leather legging and heavy mountaineer’s boot, but her fingers were so stiff with cold that she could not undo the wet laces. Jack had found a flask, and, pouring the cup-top on the bottle full of brandy, tried to force some between the lips of the man.

Not more than five minutes had passed since the guide had first leaped from his saddle, but in that time the snow had fallen so heavily that everything was covered with a white blanket. And the gale increased in velocity so that it blew the snow in every direction, and seemed to drive it under the riding clothes of the stylishly clad tourists.

After a second attempt to get some brandy down the throat of the guide, Jack succeeded and was repaid by seeing the eyelids twitch and slowly lift. Then the man became conscious all at once, and sat up, though he did not move his foot—it seemed limp.

“What a fix!” exclaimed Barnes, in disgust with himself. “A broken bone, and out here in this blizzard!”

“That’s all right, Barnes—I’ll cut down the aspens for you, and Polly, with the other girls, will drag them out of the way. The work will keep us from freezing,” said Jack, cheerily.

“Don’t forget me,” called Mrs. Courtney, trying to act as cheery as Jack.

“If you only knew how to manage it, you ought to throw the blankets over the animals, or we may not have them fit to carry us back to the cabins,” suggested the guide.

“We do know how to do it,” replied Dodo. “I was brought up in Colorado, and Polly knows enough about horses to break the worst broncho. Jack, too, has been on the ranch. Just watch us.”

So saying, Dodo jumped from her saddle, and Eleanor managed to slide out of hers. It took Mrs. Courtney longer to dismount, as she had become so cold and stiff.

The three,—Jack, Polly and Dodo,—then began to remove the saddles that they might pull off the blankets which were strapped under them. This done, they started to rearrange the blankets in order to cover the quaking horses.

“Jack, you better get busy chopping the aspens, because Dodo and I can blanket the animals,” suggested Polly.

“Good! Hand me the axe from Barnes’ side,” returned Jack, turning to the man who was trying to get upon one foot and assist the girls.

“You just sit still, Barnes—or you’ll have a compound fracture. We’ll get this straightened out in a jiffy,” said Jack. Then he took the axe and began to whack at the nearest aspen. It was one directly ahead of Barnes’ horse, and Jack figured logically that cutting down the few ahead of the horses would make it easier for them to turn, because the leader could step in and go around the narrow turn he proposed making. Then they would face the opposite direction from the one in which they now stood.

Polly and Dodo had blanketed three horses, and all three girls were engaged with the others, when Jack whacked a hard blow at the tree he was felling. The axe struck sideways, and a long sharp chip flew up and scuttled horizontally through the air. It struck the leading horse directly between the eyes, and that poor beast, already frightened by the blasts of howling wind which bore such cold sheets of sleet and snow into his face and chest, leaped up on his hind legs. In a second, he came pounding down again, and then started off along the trail, pulling the other horses in his wake.

The three girls were so frightened at what had happened that they were incapable of moving for a moment; consequently Eleanor was thrown against an aspen with such force that she had the breath knocked out of her. Polly had been half over the back of one horse, in order to work a blanket down to the other side, and she was carried along while clinging desperately to the mane of the beast she was upon. Dodo was flat in a snow-drift.

Mrs. Courtney had been attending to Barnes’ injured foot, and now she sprang up and called aloud in sudden fear. “Polly!”

Jack left the axe where he had dropped it and started off hot-footed to catch up with the escaping animals. The snow impeded the hoofs of the leading horse, and he soon found that running away in the teeth of a blizzard was not the fun it was in town, when he began to cut capers for amusement to those around. He had not galloped more than a hundred yards before he began to breathe hard. The high altitude had a lot to do with this, too, but the beast knew nothing of altitudes. In the length of a few more yards he was glad enough to halt and try to catch his breath. This, naturally, stopped the other horses that were being dragged willynilly at the heels of their leader.

Jack ploughed through the broken snow as fast as he could lift his feet out of the clinging drifts, and after a hard sprint he caught up to the sweating animals. But now! how to turn them about? That was another problem, and he gazed in despair at the closely standing aspens which lined the sides of the trail.

Polly made a horn of her cupped hands and shouted at him. “Only one thing to do, Jack, and that is—cut down the aspens over there, instead of here. We’ll have to come and help you, and leave Mrs. Courtney with the guide; we’ll pick them up after we get the horses turned about.”

Jack signified he had understood, and then, holding fast to the bridle of the leading animal, he waited until Polly brought the axe. The other girls followed in Polly’s tracks, and, after a tiresome hike, they all went to work to remove the obstructing aspens. Jack now wielded the axe, with a zeal he had been unconscious of possessing, and the three girls worked in breaking down the younger growth of trees and throwing them back upon the trodden trail; since they would not return that way, but would lead the horses about the short turn they were making through the woods, it made little difference.

No one stopped to eat, though all were half-famished and half-frozen, as well. Mrs. Courtney tried to keep Barnes from being chilled, by helping him hop around upon one leg, keeping the injured one free from the ground. As Barnes was a heavy young man, and he had to lean upon his companion for support, she was thoroughly tired out by the time the horses were successfully led back through the narrow cleft made in the aspens. In fact, so narrow was it that many a tree-trunk scraped the sides of the horses as they were pulled and pushed and urged to go along to gain the good, though narrow, trail ahead.

This much was successfully accomplished at last, and the young people, who had had to chop and break down the aspens in order to get the horses turned about, heaved a sigh of gratitude when they halted the animals beside the guide.

“Now, our next job will be to hoist Barnes into his saddle,” remarked Jack.

“That is not a difficult thing to do, because I know how to help myself under all unexpected circumstances,” was the cheery reply from the guide. As he spoke, he hopped over to his horse’s side and caught hold of the saddle. At that moment a ray of sun burst through the black snow-clouds and glinted upon the winking eyes of the group of surprised riders.

“Well! can you beat that for contrariness?” cried Polly, glancing angrily up at the breaking storm-clouds.

“Just as we’ve finished our hard labor, to find the blizzard isn’t going to blizz any more!” laughed Eleanor, whimsically.

“If the sun comes out eventually, what are we going to do—go on or turn back?” asked Dodo.

“Oh, we can’t go on with Mr. Barnes in this condition. We must return as quickly as possible and see that he has surgical attention,” declared Mrs. Courtney.

“Well, it is a great disappointment, not to see the view we were led to expect from the summit of the peak, but I am so tired out with shoveling snow, and with removing trees from this forest, that I’m just as well pleased if we get back to Flagstaff and can roll over into a warm bed,” was Polly’s verdict.

“Reckon you’re right, Poll!” agreed Jack, as he sprang up into his saddle.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in carefully riding back to the cabins where the guides lived while the trails remained open. Here the old mountaineer who did the cooking for the men during the season, soon had steaming coffee, with bacon and eggs, ready to serve.

The girls would not have believed how good greasy eggs fried in bacon fat could taste, until that afternoon. Jack commented upon the evident relish with which they ate whatever was placed before them.

“No wonder!” laughed Polly, seeking carefully for the last crumb of black bread, “wood-cutters always come in after a hard day’s work, with appetites like ravening wolves.”

“That’s us!” declared Dodo, ungrammatically. Then she smacked her lips with relish over the coffee, while her companions laughed.

Poor Barnes had the worst of that ride, for the small bones of his ankle had been fractured and he would have to keep it in splints for a long time, if he would have it knit well and be as good as ever. But this accident proved to be beneficial for future riders up Humphrey Mountain, for the trail was ordered to be made wider and kept open and clear to protect man and beast in the future.

That evening, at the hotel, Polly remarked to her friends: “One place on the map that we won’t see this trip!”

“I’m not grieving,” laughed Jack. “I’ve seen all of that peak I ever care to.”

“Um! I’m with Jack in that sentiment,” added Eleanor.

“‘Them’s all our sentiments, too!’” giggled Dodo.

CHAPTER XII
TWO WEEKS LATER

Jack managed to escort his friends to all the other places of interest which they had decided to visit, and then, having heard from Mr. Dalken and his two companions that they were not to wait for them, the five members of the party at Flagstaff decided to go on to Grand Canyon, where they expected to meet Mrs. Alexander and Algy.

They heard from Mr. Barnes the last day of their stay in Flagstaff, and were pleased to learn that he was recovering quickly from his injury. Then they bid the hotel people good-by and started for Grand Canyon. They arrived at a time of year when few tourists think of visiting Arizona and its wonders. But they found that the first of December was the most wonderful of all seasons in the year to see the Canyon and the surrounding scenery. It beggared all attempts at description, when the snow flurried over the great abyss, or the sun reflected a million points of colored lights from the icy crags and the frozen drips of water!

Mrs. Alexander, during the interval she had spent alone at El Tovar, had wearied herself with showing off all the costumes she had brought in her trunks; also she had had a most glorious time in smiling engagingly at every man who had registered at the hotel. It made no difference to this rejuvenated lady whether the male guests were young, or middle-aged, or decrepit—her attentions were bestowed alike with impartiality.

It had, therefore, become a standing joke with the hotel employees whenever a newcomer made his appearance, to wager just what he might do to escape the flirtatious lady. But no member on that staff dreamed that the lady was the wife of the plain, little millionaire from Denver.

She had been determined to play without marital limitations; consequently, learning that Algy had not appeared there, she had registered at the El Tovar as “Miss Alexandria Marget,” and had thought herself most clever at the way she had changed her name.

When her grown daughter, Dodo, appeared upon the scene, however, Miss Marget could not explain her former masquerade. And the hotel clerks were chagrined to find that they had been making sport of one of the wealthiest women in the west. Dodo, not aware of her mother’s pastime, paid little heed to the humble attendants at the hotel.

The first day at Grand Canyon was devoted to visits to the Hopi and Navajo Indian settlement, where the girls watched with interest the handicraft workers in beads, willow, hide, and other curious things.

The second day at Grand Canyon, the weather became mild enough to permit a number of visitors to ride down the Bright Angel trail, and great preparations were made for spending the day and night down below, then coming up by another trail.

“You never expect to reach the bottom alive, do you?” demanded Mrs. Alexander, now restored to her rightful title.

“Why, of course!” retorted Dodo, laughingly. “It’s just as safe now as in July—and there isn’t a flake of snow to be had yet, so there is no danger along the trail. We had a far more dangerous time on going through the aspen brakes on Humphrey’s Peak.”

“Well, you foolish people may risk your necks if you choose, but don’t ask me to do so, too!” declared Mrs. Alexander.

“You dislike riding, anyway, Ma, so it’s just as well if you remain above,” returned Dodo, hoping to be agreeable, yet hailing the news that her mother would not ride down with them.

The plan was perfected that evening, and the guides asked those who wished to take the trip to be ready in warm riding togs about eight in the morning. Then, after all was settled, a group of new arrivals poured into the hotel. With the strangers, Mrs. Alexander recognized a man whom she had seen at the Colorado Springs hotel. He was reputed to be a retired banker from San Francisco, but he everlastingly played golf while staying at the resort, and she had had no opportunity to try her charms to captivate him. Now, however, he had no chance to play his favorite game, so she planned to play her own little game with him.

Hearing that he would be one of the party to ride down Bright Angel, Mrs. Alexander suddenly changed her mind and said she, too, had decided to go with the rest. When she learned later, that the trip had been extended to take in Ribbon Falls, and the nights’ rest at Phantom Ranch, she wavered in her decision.

“How do I know I will have a decent bed at an old ranchhouse?” wondered she, debating what would be best to do.

But the impressive appearance of the man she had watched and admired at the Springs, proved too much for her dread of going without comforts. Hence, she was up soon after the call-boy rapped at her door in the morning, and then she started to dress herself in a (what she considered) fetching tourist costume. She was still arranging her hair, when Dodo knocked upon her door and called impatiently to her.

“Goodness, Ma! We’re all through breakfast; it’s time to start, and you’re still prinking as for a ball! Hurry up!”

“I’m coming!” exclaimed the lady, but she failed to do so, until a third urgent call from her daughter brought her forth.

Mrs. Courtney and the girls were clothed in warm and serviceable riding habits, but Mrs. Alexander had sacrificed comfort to her desire to appear stylish. She wore a very youthful and natty outfit, better adapted to screen work in Hollywood than a ride to the very bottom of Grand Canyon in December.

When the other members of the large party were notified that the tardy one had arrived and they could get upon the horses, Mrs. Alexander maneuvered to edge her horse quite close to the one which carried the man she wished to captivate. This gentleman, however, paid scanty attention to any one—he seemed to be thinking seriously of the beast he had to ride. Finally Mrs. Alexander played one of her trump cards.

“Oh, Mr. Guide! It would be much pleasanter for every one in this party if you would introduce us to each other. Seeing we are to be members of one large family, as it were, for the next few days, don’t you think we ought to know by what names to address each other?”

One of the guides then rode up and introduced each one in turn, calling that one by name; and the others signified their delight at being introduced in this wholesale manner. When the man who was responsible for Mrs. Alexander’s being one of the party was introduced as Mr. Atchison, the others bowed to him. Mrs. Alexander did more, however; she had, by degrees, worked her beast over so that she was quite near the magnet to which she wished to attach herself; then when Mr. Atchison rode out of line for a moment to be introduced, she made her horse appear to start suddenly—thus she urged the animal into the place just vacated.

Mr. Atchison saw his former place was taken, and he sat waiting for the next man in turn to be introduced. Then he took that place, which brought him directly behind Mrs. Alexander. This was what she had hoped for, and, having succeeded in her little trick, she was delighted with herself.

The signal was given to start down the trail, and the guides warned every one about keeping close in the saddles, and letting the mounts seek their own foothold. No one was to dream of jumping off while on the down trail, nor were they to pull up the horses and halt the line behind. Other advices were given, and then the long cavalcade passed on its way.

Mrs. Alexander lost no time in following up the advantage she had secured by taking another’s place in the line, and she chattered like a magpie all the way from the hotel to the rim of the canyon, turning constantly in the saddle to send a look at her admired follower—literally speaking.

Mr. Atchison had little need to reply, since the lady kept up a rapid-fire conversation which called for no answers. The burden of her information seemed to be about the days spent at Colorado Springs, when she envied him those marvelous shots! Had she known that the gentleman addressed was thinking of other things while she prattled, she might have changed her tactics.

When they came to Bright Angel Trail, and those in front had passed over the rim, Mr. Atchison suddenly woke up.

“Madam, you’d better keep your face turned in the direction you’re riding, or you may never have time to regret the error,” said he, seriously, seeing Mrs. Alexander’s head turned towards him.

This silenced her for a time, and she paid strict attention to the descent, but she planned at the same time just what she would do when the party reached the first dismounting place to rest.

Soon afterwards, Mrs. Alexander found, in all seriousness, enough to think of to keep her from sending one backward look at Mr. Atchison, or, indeed, to continue planning what she might do when the tourists reached Indian Gardens. Like most shallow persons, she was dreadfully afraid of hurting herself, or of dying. Consequently, when her mount seemed to edge too near the very rim of death, she shrieked aloud in terror, or tried to drive the wise horse closer to the wall. The result of these frantic actions were shown in torn skirts, skinned thighs and scraped boots, where she rubbed against the flinty walls of the Canyon.

After many trying incidents for Mrs. Alexander, and the impatient advices forced from Mr. Atchison, who considered the hysterical woman would have been better off in bed than on this trip, they reached Indian Gardens and were glad to get out of the saddles and relax.

Mrs. Alexander instantly fastened herself to her latest “ideal,” by taking his arm and thanking him profusely for his care and concern over her on the way thus far. She gazed, with what she fondly believed to be a soulful look, up into his face, and he, prosaic man, laughed aloud at her gushing manner.

“Why, my dear woman, I only warned you of dangers, because it would be so unpleasant to have the whole crowd depressed by having you slide out of sight over the rim of the trail. I came here with my friends to enjoy myself, not to attend a post mortem. And I earnestly advise you to remain here at the Gardens, until we return up-trail and take you back,” suggested Mr. Atchison.

Mrs. Alexander failed to hear the sarcasm in the speech, and she may have continued her blandishments had the gentleman not released his arm by wriggling it away from her hold and instantly excusing himself. He then hurried over to the place where the guides were preparing luncheon for the party, and there he seemed deeply engaged in conversing with two of them. Mrs. Alexander watched and saw him pass a bill to one of the men, and the two guides addressed nodded their heads, and, grinning, seemed to agree to a proposition.

Mr. Atchison then mingled with others, and found his friends with whom he had arrived at the hotel late the night before. Dodo and her friends now joined Mrs. Alexander so that she had no new opportunity to appeal to her beau-ideal.

After the rest period had passed, the guides called all to mount once more. One guide seemed to have difficulty in adjusting the saddle on Mrs. Alexander’s horse, and this delayed her in finding her place in the line. It became necessary for the guide to call another one to aid him in fastening the straps, and, finally, Mrs. Alexander found she would have to ride at the very end of the line; one of the guides, now attending to her saddle-straps, being the last member of the party. The other guide was just in advance of her.

“Why! this isn’t my place, at all!” cried Mrs. Alexander, angrily, seeing Mr. Atchison riding with his friends.

“There are no reserved places, Madam,” replied the guide.

Mrs. Alexander turned to look at the man, and then she recognized the guide who had taken the money from Mr. Atchison.

“That’s what you say, but how about selling places?” snapped she, beginning to understand that the man she wished to captivate had purchased his way out of her reach.

“Beware, Madam! Your mount is slipping while you twist and turn like this,” exclaimed the guide, warningly.

Since the animals had started on the down trail again, there was nothing to be done about recovering her first place in the line. But Mrs. Alexander was not one to be so readily turned from her object. If she could not succeed in one way, she would try in other ways. And there was no one to warn Mr. Atchison of this.

Just below Indian Gardens the leading guide turned off the Bright Angel Trail and followed the Tonto Trail, which led down to the bottom of the Canyon, and finally, known as the Kaibab Trail, ran across the Colorado, via the great suspension bridge. Farther on they reached Phantom Ranch, which was located in Bright Angel Canyon.

The trip had been most enjoyable to every one but that one who had a chip upon her shoulder. And finally, when the party dismounted at Phantom Ranch for the night, they were tired from the long ride, but eager to enjoy supper and an evening indoors.

Mrs. Alexander had planned to square herself with Mr. Atchison that evening, but she was so worn out from riding all day that the unusual exercise made her only too glad to crawl into bed. She ordered her supper sent to her room, and she also commandeered a maid to rub her aching bones with liniment. That proved to be an unusual bonanza for the servant, because Mrs. Alexander never was niggardly in rewarding dependents, and this girl had eased her distress to such a degree that she lavished money upon her in return.

Early the following morning the guides roused their party and urged them to make haste and get along the trail again. Mrs. Alexander found herself so stiff and sore, however, that she could not get up. Try as she would to move her joints and make her limbs obey her order, she found she lacked power to do so. Hence it was found that she would have to remain at Phantom Ranch that day and rest in order to continue back up-trail to El Tovar Hotel the next morning.

Naturally she rebelled against nature’s demand, and she proved she could be a disagreeable guest. But Mr. Atchison had acquitted himself bravely, as well he might, seeing he was to be freed from tiresome attentions all that day.

In a spirit of mischief, as well as of freedom, he sent a large box of bon bons and several magazines to Mrs. Alexander’s room with his card, upon which he wrote “regrets.”

Of course, Mrs. Alexander decided that the gentleman was heart-broken because she would not be with him that day, and she smiled, even as she groaned with aching bones; then she turned to open the box of candy.

The season for crowds of tourists having long been passed, the Ranch host had not stocked up with fresh bon bons. The box sent to Mrs. Alexander had been discovered back upon a shelf of the cupboard, and no one knew how long it had been hiding there. Consequently, the first bite in the chocolate-covered cocoanut bar caused Mrs. Alexander to get rid of it quicker than she had bitten into it. The cocoanut had soured, and the lady was finicky about her candies.

That box of sweets proved to be as genuine a failure as the love-affair Mrs. Alexander had planned between the donor of the bon bons and herself. With a deep sigh, she now turned her attention to the magazines. Here, at least, she would find pastime in whiling away the lonesome hours that day!

The first magazine she took up was the Popular Science Monthly, having, as advertised, all the pictures of recent inventions and scientific discoveries. This periodical she flung across the room—what had she in common with such stuff!

The second magazine was found to be the Literary Digest. But it was several months old, and not an item in it about fashions or society gossip! This paper followed the first magazine—across the room.

The third and last copy turned out to be a more fortunate choice of literature for this lady. It was a popular love-story magazine, but it had been well-thumbed by guests during the year it had been upon the table of the inn, and Mrs. Alexander scrutinized its torn pages doubtfully, as she turned them over daintily.

Desire overcame doubt, however, and soon she was gloating over the success of a beautiful young shop-girl who had won an earl’s son for her husband. This was the kind of “literature” Mrs. Alexander preferred, and she forgot her aches and loneliness, while devouring the romances of impossible lovers.

Meanwhile Polly and her friends reached Ribbon Falls, and enjoyed the trip immensely. Mr. Atchison found Mrs. Courtney and her charges very agreeable, and the two parties became very friendly before they started on the return ride to the Ranch where they would spend the second night.

The weather continued warm and delightful, and the guides declared they had never known such a prolonged Indian Summer since the beginning of the World War. If it remained warm and temperate as it was then they would be able to conduct visitors down the trails of the Canyon all winter.

Mr. Atchison showed a marked preference for Mrs. Courtney’s society that day, and Polly nudged her friends to have them watch the grey-haired man singe his heart at the flame.

“Not much flame about Mrs. Courtney,” retorted Jack, laughing at Polly’s remark.

“Well, I used that saying because it is common, but I suppose I should have said he’d freeze his heart at the ice-berg,” was her laughing correction.

“That’s better!” agreed Eleanor. “Any one who can resist the attractions of our Dalky, as Mrs. Courtney has done, must have a cake of ice where her heart should be.”

“That remains to be seen,” remarked Dodo, wisely. “There hasn’t been opportunity for the two to get acquainted this trip, but wait till this mining scheme ends, then we shall see!”

“Meanwhile, let that grey-haired man keep your friend in practise, eh?” chuckled Jack, watching the man who was so attentive to the lady under discussion.

On the ride back to the Ranch, Mr. Atchison hovered about Mrs. Courtney, and when, at last, they rode up to the house, he insisted upon helping her out of the saddle, and then assisting her to the porch.

Mrs. Alexander had dressed late that afternoon, and was waiting for the return of the riders, hurrying out to the porch the moment she heard the hoofs of the horses. She was just in time to see her whilom beau smile foolishly at Mrs. Courtney’s thanks, and then she fixed him with her eye.

“I trust you had a pleasant ride, Mrs. Courtney,” began Mrs. Alexander, still staring the mature admirer out of countenance. “I preferred the solitude of this ranch to the troublesome attention of elderly men! I had quite enough of that ridiculous sort of nonsense on the ride down. What a pity old men never know when they are passé!”

With this thrust, Mrs. Alexander took Mrs. Courtney’s arm and led her safely away from the “nonsense” of passé admirers.

CHAPTER XIII
DALKY’S STORY

The Dalken party rested the day after the return to the hotel, and then, the day following that, Jack had the guides take them down the Hermit Trail. Mrs. Alexander refused emphatically to risk her precious life again on such silly errands as those leading to the bottom of the Canyon, only to have to ride up again!

They stopped over night at the Hermit Cabins, and then back-trailed until they reached the Tonto Trail where it forks from the Hermit Trail. The Tonto Trail led them along the Colorado River, but necessarily swerving in and out between the huge peaks. Late that afternoon they came to Bright Angel Trail, and thus regained the upper level once more. It was quite dark by the time they entered the hotel, and, at first, the lights dazzled their eyes so that they did not see who was standing beside Mrs. Alexander. In a few moments, however, Polly gave a glad squeal and rushed forward.

“Oh, Dalky! I’m so glad to see you again. When did you get here?”

Mr. Dalken was immediately surrounded by the bevy of young people, so that he found it impossible to reply to all their questions at once. Turning to Polly, he answered her.

“We arrived not half an hour ago, and Mrs. Alexander was just telling us about that dreadful trip down to Phantom Ranch. I only wish I had been there, to try to encourage you when you feared instant death over the rim of Bright Angel. Mrs. Alexander says the trail got its name from the many lives which are being sacrificed while trying to go up or down that perpendicular path.” Mr. Dalken’s face showed no hint of a smile as he spoke, but Dodo laughed outright.

“Why, Ma! I should think you’d try to keep your fears to yourself,” exclaimed the girl. “As for telling any one how the trail got its name—that is too absurd for anything! Some one has been stringing you, that’s all.”

“I reckon I ought to know, young lady!” snapped Dodo’s mother. “Mr. Atchison is very well-informed, and he spent more than an hour this morning before he left, in telling me all about Grand Canyon and how the trails got their various names.”

“Mr. Atchison tried to see just how much hot air you would take,” chuckled Mr. Alexander.

“Ebeneezer! I told you a few minutes ago that you must not treat me as you have in the past. I realize how far above you I am in my ideals and social polish, and I demand recognition of my station,” was Mrs. Alexander’s severe reprimand.

Her husband failed to be impressed by her hauteur, however, and his laugh echoed through the room. In fact, it was so spontaneous and contagious that all the others in the group—except Mrs. Alexander, of course—had to smile with him.

“Well, well, girls! Come sit down and hear our story,” interrupted Mr. Dalken, eager to silence these two bickering partners. And that invitation instantly changed the trend of thought.

“Now, begin at the very beginning, Dalky—when you-all left us at Flagstaff and rushed away without telling us where, or who with, or when you’d get back,” coaxed Polly, eagerly.

“All right, then,” agreed Mr. Dalken. “In the parlance of the fairy tales, I’ll say: ‘Once upon a time there were three wise men who went to a far-off land to seek their fortunes.’” The narrator smiled as he indicated Mr. Fuzzier, Mr. Alexander and himself. “Well, these wise men thought they had reached the land of their dreams without others being aware of their coming. But they were to learn that not only had certain individuals in Chicago telegraphed the advent of these wise men to certain individuals in and near the section of country where the three friends were going to take fortune by the forelock, but they discovered also that every movement since they left Chicago until they were on the drive from Flagstaff to Sedona was known to those who were waiting with their nets wide open to entrap the unwary, innocent, gullible, wise men.”

The girls giggled at Mr. Dalken’s latter part of the tale, but Polly interpolated: “Oh, do speak in simple English, Dalky! The story is going to be too thrilling for round-about methods.”

“All right, then. Seeing you prefer unvarnished facts to classic lore, here goes,” was the smiling rejoinder. “Jack, there, secured a most valuable chauffeur for us,—but this was quite unintentional on his part,—the morning we started from Flagstaff. In fact, we could not have had a better man for our purpose, than the driver of the car that sped us along the trail to Montezumas Castle.

“Bill Beldon, that’s the chauffeur’s name, seemed to have a hunch that we needed speed to reach the old Farview Ranch before Father Time could arrive there. So he kept his foot upon the gas without letting up, until we struck a spread of gravel and that introduced our vicissitudes. First Alex. ran up against a bit of gravel as large as his head, and, his head being softer than the stone, he showed results in a vast swelling. Then Fuzzy tried to dent the car with his forehead, and immediately his head began to puff up. I waited for a better opportunity to dent something, and I found it while stooping over Alex. Unfortunately for us both, the chauffeur tried the same stunt at the same time. Result: two more swelled heads. Now, girls, picture us four men, each one nursing a great black and blue lump about the size of an orange!”

At the mental picture portrayed, every one present laughed merrily; then Jack added: “I bet you won out in your plans, or you wouldn’t sit there giving us the funny details of the first stage of the trip.”

“Jack, my boy, you are too bright for your age,” commented Mr. Fuzzier. Mr. Dalken paid no heed, but resumed his story.

“While we were trying to stand Alex. upon his feet, Bill explained how he had learned who we were, and how a man by the name of Dunlap had been anxiously waiting for us at Williams, where he thought we must appear on the way to Grand Canyon. He also told us how the chauffeur of Dunlap’s hired car, Jim, by name, was a chum of his, and how Jim had driven Dunlap to Flagstaff twice that week to study the register of the hotel and assure himself that his quarry had not been there, and, perhaps, escaped him by another way.

“That was all we needed to make us forget heads and tires, and we urged Bill to get busy with the gas, or he’d be a dead man.

“Needless to add, Fuzzy, here, assuaged the driver’s grief over the damage the car would be sure to receive on that reckless trip from the main road to Sedona, by promising him two new cars—or the price of them—if he got us to the ranch before others woke up to the fact that we were within a hundred miles of it.

“Well, Bill Beldon won his prize money, but it was touch and go at the last. I’m anticipating the finale of the tale in order to quiet Jack’s nerves—I see he wants to know if we won out.”

“Hurrah!” cried Jack, clapping his hands at the news. “That means you go on with the South American project, and I can go down there with the rest of the men to work on the development.”

Mr. Dalken smiled indulgently, for he thought he knew Jack well enough to believe him incapable of serious application to work of any kind. Then he continued his story.

“We left the main road, as I said, and were heading for Sedona, when Bill struck this gravel stretch. The car behind had a good opportunity now to catch up and pass us by, but the road was too narrow to permit two cars abreast. Besides, our car, in striking the deep rut, had turned partly across the road, thus obstructing it for any other vehicles. All the same, we saw the driver, Jim, driving along swiftly, and we were determined to evade his passenger, Dunlap.

“We bundled Alex. back into the car, and in another moment Bill was in his seat. By the time Fuzzy and I were inside, the car had started again, and we soon out-distanced the car behind.

“We decided not to pass through Sedona, after all, but we tried to keep on the outskirts in order to avoid attention. From there we determined to strike in a southwesterly direction towards Camp Verde. The ranch we were after was half-way between Sedona and Verde, and we would have to go a bit off of our route in order to travel on ready-made trails.

“All went well for us,—even the tires held out better than we had expected them to do,—until we came to a crosstrail that struck in from Clarkdale. Just before we reached the point where the trail veered off to the great ranch for which we were bound, Bill spied a third car coming from the direction of Clarkdale. As it was going at top speed, he concluded that it had passengers who thought time must be worth money. So he drew our attention to it.

“‘We take no chances, Bill!’ I ordered. ‘It may be a second Dunlap in that car. Anyway, shoot ahead, and keep in the lead, no matter if the whole works go to pieces a moment after we reach the ranch.’

“And Bill did shoot ahead. In fact, we made the turn to the ranch about fifty yards in advance of the automobile coming from Clarkdale.

“The ranch buildings could be seen in the far distance like so many tiny dots upon the landscape, when our next delay came about. One of the rear tires blew up. Bill gazed anxiously out to see how much advanced time he might take and yet keep in the lead of the pursuing car. No other automobile was to be seen, so we all jumped out, jacked the car, and worked like college football players at a crack game. You’d hardly believe it, if we were to tell you the time it took us to change tires and get started again. Just as Alex. slammed the door of the automobile, I peeped out and saw the car from Clarkdale coming into view on the trail.

“Then, even as I was about to turn my gaze away, I saw the car skid, and in another moment it had climbed up the side of the bank that skirted the trail. It toppled over against the high side of the embankment; that was fortunate for us, as we could not have been heartless enough to leave an injured competitor upon a lonely trail had the car rolled over on the downward side and turned turtle.

“We had gone another mile, when Alex., who was posted at the rear window watching the trail behind, reported that another car was coming along the trail, and the man who had been in the overturned automobile was hailing the chauffeur to stop. In another moment, Alex. said: ‘Now they’ve stopped, and the man is getting in the other car. Now they are on their way again. But we have a fine lead on them.’

“He had no more than finished speaking, when the front tire went flat. I shouted to Bill to keep right on running on the flat tire, if necessary, since it was not far now to the ranch buildings.

“But the flat tire delayed us in the race, and the jolting was dreadful. In fact, when we pulled up in front of the one-story shack where we were to meet the man who had the legal right to sign an option for the property, we were completely out of breath from the shaking up. We had reached our destination, however, five minutes in advance of the other men, and Bill had earned his reward.

“Then I ran to the closed door, and banged away at it. No one answered, and I tried the handle. The door was locked! Then we ran about the place, Fuzzy to the sheds, Alex. to the back of the shanty, and I to try a window to get in. All to no purpose! Not a soul could we find, and no notice, either, to state where the owner might have gone.

“To our chagrin the other automobile now pulled up in the clearing before the shack, and Jim greeted his pal, Bill Beldon. We stood eyeing the occupants of the car, as they prepared to get out, and there, to our astonishment, we saw Algy step from the inside. He appeared to be so frightened, and so shaken up, that he could not speak to any one for a time. Two men followed directly after him, and they came forward without ceremony to introduce themselves to us.

“‘Is this the party from Chicago?’ asked the man whom we suspected to be Dunlap.

“‘Why do you ask?’ I demanded impatiently, realizing how we had missed the option on the place by having the owner break his appointment.

“‘Because I must be sure I am addressing the right party before I tell my story,’ explained Dunlap.

“‘And how about the man with you?’ asked Fuzzy. ‘He came from the opposite direction, and but for the accident to his car, would have reached here just ahead of you. Now he is with you.’

“‘Yes; I was greatly surprised to find Mr. Belnord in the vicinity of the ranch, because I had reason to believe him at Williams, where I left him the day I started for Flagstaff,’ explained the man addressed.

“‘Then you make no secret of having tried to anticipate our arrival at Flagstaff, and keeping yourself posted in regard to our appearance at Williams?’ questioned Fuzzy, with a meaning smile.

“‘Oh, indeed, no! That is, if you are the three gentlemen for whom I have instructions,’ returned the man.

“‘What do you mean—instructions for us?’ asked Alex.

“‘Why, didn’t you get the telegram I sent to Mr. Fuzzier in Chicago?’ asked both men, anxiously. Then one added: ‘One of you three gentlemen must be Mr. Fuzzier, I trust?’

“‘Well, yes! I am the man,’ confessed Fuzzy.

“‘And one of you must be the Mr. Dalken of New York, whom we wish to see, and the third one is Mr. Alexander, of Denver?’

“‘Seeing that we happen to be these three men, what is it you wish of us?’ I asked.

“‘Why,’ began the man who had been toppled over in the automobile, ‘I am Mr. Belnord, executor of the man who owned this great tract of land. I found, in his sheaf of papers, that he had corresponded with you gentlemen about an option on this land. And he further said, that he wished you to have first choice on buying the place, because Ebeneezer Alexander had befriended him years ago while both men were at Cripple Creek staking out claims. It seems this Alexander had staked a rich claim, and had advised my client to stake the adjoining claim. He did so, and cleared up enough on that advice to buy this great ranch.’

“‘And I am Mr. Dunlap, the agent who sold Sam White this ranch. I happen to know that Sam always suspected his property of having a rich vein of copper in it, and we often planned what we would do some day, if Sam got over his rheumatism and could work. Poor Sam died two weeks ago, and Mr. Belnord and I have been on the lookout for you gentlemen ever since. We both had wires from your offices in Chicago and New York, informing us that you would be on your way to Grand Canyon by the time the messages reached us. And we posted ourselves at the two main towns on the railroad, thinking you might get off to have a look at the sights on the way.’

“‘When Dunlap and I heard you had gone on to the ranch, we both started after you, hoping to save you the long, hard drive over these dreadful trails. But you’ve got one fast driver, in that Bill Beldon,’ explained Mr. Belnord.

“At that, we three stared speechlessly at the two men. I managed to get my breath, however, and then asked: ‘Do you two mean to tell us that you were trying to locate us in order to help us take up the option on this land?’

“‘Why, of course! What did you think we wanted of you?’ asked Mr. Dunlap.

“At that, we had to laugh at ourselves, but Bill Beldon stood looking glum. He feared he would lose that reward, because he had misinterpreted the intentions of the man Dunlap.

“‘I will confess, gentlemen,’ added Mr. Dunlap, after we had exhausted our laughing-stock, ‘that I had my own axe to grind, as well as seeing you get possession of this land. I bought a great tract of land adjoining White’s ranch, because of my faith in his powers of discernment. And I thought, perhaps, if you were interested in taking up Sam’s ranch, you would also like to look over my tract at the same time. I want to get into a big developing scheme, and I have a little cash to add to the value of my land, if you will consider me as one of your stock-holders. So, now, gentlemen, suppose we get down to business.’

“Well, friends! That’s the story of how we ‘Three Wise Fools’ ran ourselves across the country in search of a paper that was right at hand in the little town from which we started. And all the time we thought we were running away from our competitors, we actually were running away from the two men who were anxious to help us realize our wishes.” Mr. Dalken laughed as he concluded.

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Polly, delightedly.

“And you got all you went after?” asked Eleanor.

“More! And we need not have gone so far to get it, either,” replied Mr. Fuzzier.

“Mr. Dalken’s name for you three seems most appropriate,” laughed Mrs. Courtney, “but your wooden shoe was an automobile, and the sea you sailed was the ranch-land. Now, however, we are glad to find you have sailed safely back to harbor.”

“Thank you for that, Fair Lady,” smiled Mr. Dalken.

Mrs. Alexander had no idea of what Mrs. Courtney had been referring to when she spoke of the wooden shoe and the sailing over the sea, and she felt that she must add a word now.

“I was not told that Ebeneezer and you two other men wore wooden shoes on that trip to the ranch, but that doesn’t concern me, if you prefer to wear sores on your feet. What does concern me, however, is Mr. Belnord. Where did you leave the gentleman who was so attentive to me during my stop-over at Williams?”

“Why, Maggie, you’ll find him back in Chicago, by this time, I hope. We sent him on at once to attend to all the papers concerning our transaction,” explained Mr. Alexander.

“And what did you do with my poor Algy?” demanded the lady.

“Your Algy is still mooning around Williams, waiting as you commanded him to do,” chuckled Mr. Alexander.

“You didn’t leave him there, did you, and come on to Grand Canyon, where you knew I would be?” exclaimed his wife.

“Algy is of age, and he was afraid to disobey you, Maggie, dear! You’ve got him trained better than I ever was,” retorted her independent husband.

“My poor, dear Algy!” sighed Mrs. Alexander, leaving the group and going to the desk to wire at once for her obedient admirer to join her at Grand Canyon.