Virginia of V. M. Ranch

“Margaret,” Virginia said when she had finished reading the letter, “I am going to ride to the Papago village today. Will you and Babs accompany me?”

CHAPTER XLII—AN INDIAN VILLAGE.

When Virginia calmly announced that she was going to ride to the Papago village, Margaret exclaimed in surprise: “But, Virg, dear, it’s mid-day now and you have said that it is a long, hard ride. Would there be time for us to go and return all in one afternoon?”

The western girl shook her head. “I thought we might remain there over night,” was her unexpected reply, “and come back tomorrow morning.”

Bab’s eyes were big and round.

“Virginia!” she ejaculated. “You don’t mean that you would actually stay all night in an Indian village? Why, I wouldn’t be able to sleep the least little bit, I am sure of that. All the time I would be listening, expecting to hear moccasined feet steathily creeping toward my bedeside, and—”

Virginia’s laughter interrupted the speaker.

“Babsy dear, remember that this is the year 1922,” she reminded, “and the Indians whom we are to visit are just as friendly as one could wish neighbors to be. Forty years ago, it is true, we would not have cared to remain all night with the red men of the desert, but, after all, they were unfriendly merely because they believed the white man to be treacherous, and were they not right? The pale face came and drove them from their happy hunting grounds with his superior cunning and the force of arms. My sympathy has always been largely with the Indians, but come, let’s have an early lunch that we may soon be on our northward way.”

“Ohee, I’m so excited,” the petite Babs exclaimed, skipping gaily along between her two friends as they returned to the ranch house. “I never knew a moving picture story that was more thrilling than the one that we are living this very minute.”

Virginia smiled down into the pretty, shining, upturned face of the younger girl and she thought she had never seen any more charming. Barbara’s fresh young joy in everything was a delight to the other girls, for even Margaret had become so used to cow-boys, Indians and adventure that the first thrill of it all had somewhat subsided, although as she often declared, she would never cease to love the desert.

When Uncle Tex heard of the planned visit to the Papago village he shook his head, saying he “reckoned” as Malcolm wouldn’t like them to ride so far alone, but the matter was settled to the old man’s complete satisfaction when Lucky announced that he would be riding north to the Dartley Ranch in about an hour and that he would accompany the girls until they reached the wall of rock surrounding the Papago village.

The great old grandfather clock was striking the hour of one when Lucky brought up from the corral three saddled ponies. Dixie had been chosen for Barbara that morning when she had been taken to the little fenced-in pasture and introduced to the small bunch of riding horses.

When Babs emerged from her room dressed for the first time in her cowgirl khaki outfit, she was bubbling with glee. “Oh, how I do wish Miss Piquilin and the girls at school could see me now,” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t Betsy Clossen be envious, though.”

Ten minutes later they were all in the saddle. “Goodbye, Uncle Tex!” they shouted in merry chorus and then they turned to follow Lucky who had already started up the mesa trail.

Margaret noticed that Virginia’s eyes were troubled even though her lips were smiling at them.

“I wonder what adventure is awaiting us,” Megsy said aloud. It was well, perhaps, that they did not know.

For two hours the girls, accompanied by Lucky, rode over the trail that led to the north. They had circled about the Dartley Ranch, and though Virginia had urged him to do so, the cow-boy would not permit them to go the remainder of the way alone and unprotected.

“But it’s taking you miles out of your way, Lucky,” Virginia protested. “You know I have never been afraid to ride alone, anywhere on all our wild desert.”

“Ah know, Miss Virginia,” Lucky replied, “but them times was sort of different like, and what’s more, I promised Malcolm as how ah’d look out for you all. A little extra riding won’t hurt me no-how.”

Lucky was obstinate, and Virginia knew that it was useless for her to protest, but when, at last, they were within sight of the wall of rock, she drew rein as she said, “Lucky, surely you will permit us to ride this last mile alone, for you can see that there is nothing between here and the mountains to do us harm.”

To Virginia’s delight the cow-boy acquiesced and whirling his pony about he galloped away, waving his sombrero while the girls called after him, “Goodbye, Lucky, thank you for escorting us.”

“Where is the Indian village, Virg?” Babs inquired as they neared the mountains. “I can’t see a tepee anywhere about.”

“Nor will you,” the western girl told her. “My Indian friends are modern and live in adobe dwellings.”

They rode slowly along the base of the sheer wall of rocks. “It’s the strangest thing,” Virg declared, “When I was here last with my brother, I made a mental note of a peculiar grouping of cactus plants that grew within a stone’s throw of the almost hidden entrance, but now I do not see it anywhere.”

Margaret had ridden ahead and she suddenly whirled about and galloped back toward the others. She seemed excited about something.

“There’s an Indian in ambush just ahead of us,” she said as she glanced fearfully back over her shoulder. “He is crouched down behind a clump of cactus plants and I’m just sure that he’s been watching us!”

Barbara’s eyes were wide with terror. “Oh, Virg,” she exclaimed, “maybe the Papagoes have become suddenly hostile. Maybe they have gone on the warpath.”

Virginia’s laugh was natural and fearless. “It’s probably little Red Feather or one of his comrades,” she said as she urged Comrade forward, but the Indian, who rose as they approached, was not one whom she had ever seen before. However, she knew from the red mark on his forehead that he was a Papago, and so she said the few words that she had learned in their tongue, “Friends—come, see Winona.”

Silently and solemnly, the young Indian pointed toward the wall of rock beyond and back of him, and as they rode in that direction, Virginia soon saw the opening for which she had been searching.

They entered a narrow canyon, riding single file. “Girls!” Babs said, almost in a whisper, “I don’t feel real. I just can’t.” Then she added as she lifted her head to listen, “Hark! Virginia, what is that howling noise ahead of us? It sounds like a pack of wolves. Hadn’t we better go back? Won’t they tear us to pieces?”

Virginia, until that moment had quite forgotten the pack of wolf-like Indian dogs that guarded the inner entrance of the narrow canyon. Perhaps it would be unwise for them to ride further unless they were accompanied by someone who could assure the dogs that they were friends. But at that very moment the problem was solved for, silhouetted against the light at the far end of the canyon, there appeared a slender Indian girl riding on a graceful, wiry pony.

“Good!” exclaimed Virg, “There’s Winona, so now we may ride forward without fear.”

Babs was so excited at the mere thought of meeting an Indian girl in an Indian village that the real object of their visit was somewhat lost to her thought. What would Winona look like she was wondering as they rode along single file. How queer that such a fine girl as Virginia Davis should have an Indian maiden as an intimate friend, and yet, it was true for she herself had heard Virg say how greatly she admired Winona.

A few moments later, when they had reached the inner entrance to the fertile bowl-like valley, Babs understood the charm of the Indian girl who so simply and sincerely had welcomed them to her home. Later, as Barbara and Margaret were riding side by side following the other two the impulsive Babs exclaimed, “Oh, Megsy, isn’t she truly beautiful? How her dark eyes glow and do see those thick shiny black braids that hang far below her waist. I just know that I am going to love her, too.”

“She is beautiful,” Margaret agreed, “but I think it is because there is something truly noble about her face. Virginia has told me that Winona longed to go away to school but she relinquished her desire that she might remain here and teach the little Papago children and help her own people.”

“I wonder what school she would attend. I suppose the girls in Vine Haven would deem themselves too good to associate with her.”

Margaret laughed gaily. “Too good to associate with a princess?” she inquired. “For that is what Winona really is; an Indian princess; the daughter of Chief Grey Hawk.”

“Is she really?” Bab’s eyes were wide and glowing. Then she added, as she glanced about at the small scattered adobe houses over the doors of which red peppers were festooned to dry in the sun, “Margaret, where do you suppose we are going to sleep? In one of those little huts? They look sort of skeery to me, but maybe that’s because they are so different from houses with which I am familiar. I love this place, though. It’s so wild and picturesque; exactly what one would wish an Indian village to be. Shouldn’t you think so, Megsy?”

Margaret smiled at her impulsive chattery friend and nodded, “I’m ever so interested in it too,” she replied. “See yonder, in the shade of that big thorny cactus, two Indian women are squatted on the ground weaving baskets. I wish I might buy one. I always adored the Indian things Betsy Clossen had in our room at school”

Then, irrelevantly: “Oh Megsy, do you suppose that you will ever be my room-mate again back in dear old Vine Haven?”

“It’s hard to tell, Babs. It all depends on what will happen. If I am able to go, then our darling Virg will go too.”

“Ohee, how wonderful that would be!” the irrepressible Babs exclaimed.

“Let’s gallop,” Margaret suggested. “Virginia is beckoning to us.”

CHAPTER XLIII—THE LOST MESSAGE.

The enthusiastic Margaret and the bubbling Babs galloped to the place where Winona and Virginia, having drawn rein, were awaiting them. Virg said:

“Winona has been telling me that she did not really have a message for us, that is, nothing that could concern Tom. Red Feather had chanced to capture a carrier pigeon which in some manner had been hurt, and had been unable to continue its flight and deliver the message that had been entrusted to its care.”

“Winona found a piece of brown paper wound about the bird’s leg and securely fastened, but she was unable to read it. It was then that she recalled having heard me say that brother Malcolm and I had often sent messages to each other written in our secret code, and she wondered if the carrier pigeon might belong to us, and so she sent little Red Feather with the bit of brown paper. On his return that night he lost it; he cannot think where, and that is why Winona did not send him again to V. M. Brother and I never did possess a carrier pigeon, and so, of course, the message could not be for me.”

“A pigeon will only carry a message back to its own home place, isn’t that so, Virginia?” Margaret inquired.

“I believe that it is,” was the reply. Then turning to Winona she said: “I would like to see that bird. May I?”

“Red Feather has it secured somewhere, I think,” the Indian girl replied. “There he comes now. We will ask him.”

The little Indian boy with a jaunty red feather in the narrow band that bound his shiny black hair close to his head, was racing toward them while a small wolf-like puppy sprang up at him, barking joyfully.

The girls dismounted and Virginia held out her right hand; then turning to the interested Babs, she said: “Barbara, this is Red Feather of whom you have heard. Perhaps he will shake hands with you and Margaret.”

The bright, black eyes were lifted inquiringly toward Winona, and then when she smilingly nodded at him, the little fellow extended one hand, his usually solemn little face twinkling merrily as though he were doing something unusual and amusing. This was evidently not the Papago manner of greeting. Babs wondered if they rubbed noses instead.

Winona spoke rapidly in a language strange to the Easterners and the small boy listened attentively. Then, as though complying with the Indian maiden’s request, he led the ponies away to the fenced-in corral which was in the middle of the bowl-like valley and was surrounded by the scattered adobe huts.

“Red Feather will return directly,” Winona told them, “and then he will show us his pigeon.”

And, indeed, almost before it seemed possible, the Indian boy was racing back, the puppy barking at his heels.

Then with the little fellow in the lead, they walked toward the wall of rock on the north side of the village. There, in a small, high hole in the cliff, Red Feather had the pigeon hidden. A strong cord tied about one leg was securely fastened to a peg which had been pounded into a nearby crevice.

Crushed corn had been scattered about within the bird’s reach.

“The wing does not seem broken.” Winona said. “I think the bird flew against the wall of rock, and for a time was stunned, do you say?”

She glanced inquiringly at Virginia, who nodded. “I wish we might find the message,” Virg said. “If it were in Spanish I could read it.”

“We may find it,” Winona replied, “but come and I will give you your supper.”

“My father, Chief Grey Hawk, is away hunting with several of our men,” the Indian girl told them as they walked back to the village, “and so I am alone in my home. There is one wide bed and in it you three shall sleep unless you would rather have another house by yourselves.”

“Oh, no, no,” Babs heard herself saying eagerly. “Please, Winona, let us stay with you.”

The Indian maiden smiled. This pretty, bubbling girl was so different from anyone whom she had met before. “I’d like to have you stay with me. This is my home. Let us go indoors.”

Babs glanced about the one large room with eager curiosity. The house they had entered was more pretentious than the others in the village, but that was natural, she decided, since it was the home of the chief.

“Oh, Megsy, what adorable rugs are on this stone floor,” Babs said softly, “and what warm, sunny colors are in the blankets on the walls, and oh, oh, if there isn’t a fireplace! And that queer-shaped red pottery, and those blankets! I truly never saw anything more artistic than this room. Why, I don’t feel skeery at all.”

Winona had gone out of a rear door, and Virginia, who had followed her, soon called to the others. “If you want to see Winona’s bake-oven, come out here.”

The rounding-topped stone oven in the dooryard was evidently used by all the neighboring women, and one buxom young mother, with a papoose strapped to her back, was busy even then making corn cakes. Winona said something in her own tongue, and the young matron nodded. The Indian maiden seemed pleased with the reply she had received, and, going indoors, soon returned with a tray of basket weave which she held out while the young matron heaped it high with corn cakes, steaming hot, that had just been taken from the oven.

“Oh, good! Are they for us?” Babs exclaimed. The young matron did not understand the words, but she beamed, being sure that whatever had been said was in appreciation of her cooking.

“Supper will be served sooner than I had expected,” Winona told them as they returned to the house. “Red Feather will bring milk. He and his older brother, Eagle Eyes, have gone to the upper end of the valley after the goats.”

“Here he is now!” Barbara exclaimed five minutes later as the little fellow appeared in the open door and set on the floor a large earthen jug that was nearly full of creamy milk.

Winona gave each of the girls a quaint red mug and Babs exclaimed, “Oh, Winona, you have such adorable things! I love this room of yours. I wish I had one just like it.”

The Indian maiden knew, that bubbling as Babs might be, she was also sincere and so she smilingly replied, “I, too, like it. I shall remain here for a time that I may teach my people, and then I want to go away and learn more in the world from which you have come.”

“We’ll all go together!” Virginia said as they sat about the fireplace, tailor-wise, on the floor, and ate the hot corn cakes and drank the creamy milk.

“Who knows? Queer things do happen!” Margaret commented meditatively.

Suddenly there was a cry of delight from Virginia. The others looked at her in surprise. She was pointing and they followed her gaze. Under a corner of the rug was caught a piece of brown paper and there was scrawly writing upon it.

“The message!” Virg exclaimed, springing up. “Oh, how I do hope I will be able to decipher it.”

Virginia gazed intently for one silent moment at the bit of soiled brown paper, the others eagerly watching and waiting. Babs stood by the side of the western girl and peered at the scrawl which meant nothing to her. The others did likewise. “Can you read it, Virg?” Margaret inquired at last.

The girl addressed, shook her head. “Not easily,” she said. “The writing is very difficult to make out. However, I am sure that the words are Spanish but the letters are so queerly made it may take me a long time to decipher it.”

“Why not leave it until morning” Winona suggested. “It will soon be dark and I was going to invite you girls to climb with me to the top of the cliff trail to watch the sun set and the stars come out. Of course sunsets are beautiful anywhere on the desert, but I do feel that my own particular sunset view is a little more wonderful than any other that I have ever seen.”

“Let us go then,” Virginia said as she refolded the bit of brown paper and placed it in her pocket, “since this message can have nothing whatever to do with us or our friends, I will postpone trying to decipher the very queer writing until there is more light. Lead on, Winona, and we will follow.”

As the girls wandered through the Indian village, many unkempt little wolf-like children paused in their antics to gaze wide-eyed at the “white face” maidens whom they seemed to regard with awe as though they were beings supernatural.

“Poor little kiddies!” Babs said softly to Margaret, “I wonder if they really know how to play.” Approaching the group nearest, she asked, “Little folks, do you know how to play ‘Ring-around-a-rosie?”

Of course they could not understand, and the smiling Winona came to be interpreter. Then the oldest of the children, looking eagerly at Babs, prattled something in her own tongue. “Will you play it with them, Sunny Day wishes to know.”

“Indeed I will,” Babs replied. “You three girls may climb the cliff trail and look at the sunset. I’d a heap rather romp with these solemn-eyed babies. I want to see them smile and hear them laugh.”

And so Babs, in pantomime, explained the merry game and soon had those Papago children whirling about and shouting as gleefully as their leader could desire.

The other three girls often looked back as they climbed the cliff trail.

“Who is Barbara?” Winona asked. “I never heard you speak of her, Virginia.”

“That is because Virginia never knew her,” Margaret replied. “Babs was my roommate at boarding school. She is such a dear, lovable girl, but, though she seems happy-hearted, she is always grieving for her lost brother. She cares more for him than for any one else in the whole world, but it is so long since she has heard from him, she believes him to be dead.”

“Poor girl!” Winona said as they paused on the summit. “I know what it is to be lonely, oh so alone,” and the others glancing at the beautiful face of the Indian maiden suddenly realized how truly lonely she must be, for no one dwelling in the Papago village could understand her aspirations nor did they really appreciate what she was giving up that she might help them, but Virginia understood, and, slipping an arm about her friend she held her close, then she reached out a hand to Margaret, and so, together, they stood watching the glowing west until the colors had faded and the first star of evening twinkled faint and far.

“It will be a wonderful day tomorrow,” Virginia said softly, little dreaming how truly wonderful the next day was to be.

CHAPTER XLIV—THE MESSAGE FOUND.

The three girls, tired indeed from the long day with its varied adventures, had found themselves weary enough to sleep in the wide bed to which Winona had referred, and even Babs had forgotten to lie awake and listen for moccasined feet to creep stealthily toward her beside as she had been so sure that she should.

The fact was that the Papagoes seemed very kindly folk, no longer thought of them as Indians, but rather as simple, trusting, child-like friends.

It was just before dawn when Virginia awoke with a start. She wondered what had awakened her, and then as the sunlight streamed in through the high opening that served as a window, she suddenly thought of something. The message! Now that it was daylight, she might be better able to decipher it. She could not understand why she was so curious concerning it, since it could have no direct bearing upon her interests or those of her friends.

Nevertheless, she was eager, and, so very quietly, not to awaken the sleeping girls, she rose and dressed. Then she slipped out to the main living-room. Winona was in the rear door-yard baking corn cakes in the stone oven, and, after greeting her, Virginia seated herself on the adobe step of the front porch to enjoy the warmth of the sun, for the morning was crisply cold. Then opening the brown paper, she studied it intently. On another paper she carefully rewrote the forms of the scrawled letters hoping that would enable her to recognize them more readily, and it did, for when she had three words copied, their meaning came to her as though by inspiration. Her heart gave a sudden leap and she could scarcely keep from crying aloud to the other girls, but she decided to translate the entire message, if she could, before awakening them, for, after all, the first three words did not give the needed information. She read them again and again. Surely they were: “Los Boregos estan—the sheep are—” but try as she might she could not read the longer and more difficult words that followed.

Margaret and Barbara soon sauntered out upon the porch, but, so absorbed was Virginia that she did not know of their near presence. Suddenly she sprang up saying aloud, “We’ll do it! We’ll do it at once.”

“Virginia Davis, you talking to yourself,” Margaret teased, “Uncle Tex does that, but we excuse him because he is so very old.”

“Don’t joke now, Megsy dear,” Virginia said seriously, “I believe that we have come upon a matter of great importance. This message may contain information, if we can get at it, that may not only restore to Mr. Wilson his stolen sheep, but may also save the life of our dear friend Tom.”

Then she showed them the three words she had copied and told them what she believed them to mean.

“But Virg, dear,” Margaret said, “although I sincerely hope that the message does refer to the lost Merinos, you know that we are now in the sheep country and those three words might refer to any herd, shouldn’t you say so?”

Virginia nodded. “You are right, Megsy. My eagerness to find Tom makes me grasp at straws. Nevertheless, I would never forgive myself if I found out, too late, that this message did really refer to Mr. Wilson’s lost sheep, and so, I will repeat what you heard me saying to myself a minute ago. We’ll do it and we’ll do it at once.”

“Suppose we have breakfast out here on the sunny porch,” Winona said, appearing in the doorway with a basket weave tray heaped with golden corn bread hot from the oven. “Margaret, will you bring the mugs that we used last night, and Barbara, perhaps you will help her, as each one is filled with steaming coffee.”

When the two girls had gone within, Winona turned to Virginia who stood intent again upon the message. Laying a slim, dark hand on the arm of her friend, she asked, “Have you found the meaning yet, Virginia?”

Virg glanced up, her cheeks flushed with excitement, then, taking the hand of the Indian maiden, she held it close as she said, “Winona, maybe, just maybe, this message may tell us where to find Tom, and oh, how I do want to find him.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she added, “He is as dear to me as a brother, I think.”

“Tom will be found,” Winona said in a tone of quiet conviction.

Virginia looked up eagerly as she asked, “Winona, you say that as though you really knew.”

The Indian girl looked out toward the cliffs and in her eyes there was an expression as though she were seeing a vision. “I cannot tell how I know,” she said, then smiling directly into the eyes of her friend, she added, “But I know.”

The good breakfast was rather hurriedly eaten, for when the girls had heard what Virginia had decided to do, they were all as much excited about it as she.

“You don’t mean that we are really, truly, going to ride north to the Wilson Ranch,” Margaret exclaimed, and Barbara equally amazed, added, “But Virg, you said one had to cross the mountains that we see towering above the cliff, did you not?”

The western girl nodded. “Aren’t you afraid that we might take the wrong trail and be lost?” Babs continued.

“You will not be lost.” It was Winona who had spoken in that calm quieting voice of hers, “for Red Feather and I will accompany you, and too, perhaps Eagle Eyes would like to go. The lads know every trail on these snow-capped mountains and they are always glad to have an adventure, whatever its nature.”

An hour later, the four girls, with the two Indian boys in the lead, left the almost hidden entrance in the wall of the rock and started on the long hard ride toward the mountains far to the north.

Virginia had carefully fastened the bit of brown paper in a place of safety, and, as they rode along in single file, her eyes were often on the trail ahead of them, and her thoughts were with Tom. How happy they would all try to make him at the V. M. if only they could find him well and unharmed. She and Margaret would let him know that they cared for him like a brother and that they wished him to feel that their home was also his home.

With a sudden thought of what might have happened to him came to her, she closed her eyes and tried not to look at the suggested picture, for, all too well she knew how cruel rustlers could be when they wished to dispose of a herder who might some day be a witness against them.

“Isn’t it time to stop for lunch?” she heard Margaret asking, and, so intently had she been thinking, that her friend’s voice sounded far off.

“Yes, I believe it is high sun,” she replied as she glanced at the heavens.

“Oh, here is an adorable spot by this mountain brook,” Babs said as they alighted, but, though Virginia tried to listen to the chatter of her friends, her thoughts kept wandering away to Tom. Suddenly, glancing up, she found Winona’s calm gaze upon her and a peace crept into her heart. The Indian girl had said, “Tom will be found.”—But when and where?

CHAPTER XLV—ON A SHEEP RANCH.

It was mid-afternoon when the long ever upward winding trail had been climbed, and, at last the girls and their guides drew rein on the very summit, where a few weeks before, little Red Feather had paused to point to the valley below, that Outlaw Tom might know which way to ride to reach the Wilson Ranch.

In the sunlight the distant group of white buildings could be plainly seen, and Virginia, noting that their Papago friends were preparing to return, held out her hand to Winona as she said, “Thank you. We will let you know as soon as we can. Good-bye.”

Half an hour later the big, rambling white ranch house had been reached and the motherly Mrs. Wilson having observed from her sitting room window the approach of the strangers was out on the verandah to greet them.

The girls leaped to the ground and Virginia going forward extended her hand as she said, “Mrs. Wilson, I am Virginia Davis and these are my friends from the East, Margaret Selover and Barbara Blair Wente. My brother Malcolm is here, is he not?”

“Oh, Miss Virginia, you haven’t heard from Tom, have you? We thought maybe, if he managed to escape, he would try to reach the V. M. Ranch, being as that was where he’d come from?”

“No, Mrs. Wilson. Tom did not come to the V. M., but I am very eager to speak with my brother. Is he here now?”

Virginia awaited the answer almost breathlessly, knowing that Malcolm might be away with one of the searching parties.

“Well now, I’m not real sure as to where he is right this minute,” the good woman replied, “but here comes Lopez on his pinto. Like as not he can tell us. Anyhow he can take your horses down to the corral.”

Mrs. Wilson beckoned to the young Mexican herder, and then, in reply to her inquiry, he told her that he believed Senor Davis was still at the bunkhouse.

He would stop there and see.

“Do come right in,” the motherly woman said, “and sit a spell in the comfortable rockers. You must be worn out, being so many hours in the saddle.”

The eastern girls were indeed glad to avail themselves of the invitation, but Virginia could not rest. Oh, how she did wish Malcolm was there, for, if the message did tell where Tom was being held in captivity, every moment might be of the greatest importance.

The doors opened and two young men entered. “Oh, brother! brother!” Virginia exclaimed, rushing toward the outstretched arms of Malcolm. “Please don’t rebuke us for coming, for we have news that we thought, or at least I thought, might be of great importance.” Then she inquired anxiously, “You have not heard from Tom?”

“No,” he replied, and his tone implied that they had all but lost hope of hearing. Then he led his sister to the rocker, saying tenderly, “You are trembling like a leaf, Virginia. You are over tired and excited, but I understand.”

Then he returned to welcome Margaret, who in turn introduced Babs.

“It’s hard to remember formalities just now,” he said. “You girls have become acquainted with Mrs. Wilson. Now permit me to introduce her older son, Harry.” Then turning to Virginia he inquired: “Did you say, sister, that you have a message?” Virginia hurriedly told the story of the captured carrier pigeon and she knew by the eyes of her listeners that they were all keenly interested. “May I see that bit of brown paper?” Harry asked as he held out his hand. “I will be able to read it.” Virginia gave him the small paper and then they all waited, scarcely breathing in their eagerness. The ticking of the big clock on the wall was the only sound that broke the stillness. Suddenly Harry leaped to his feet, his face tense, “Malcolm,” he cried, “there isn’t a minute to lose! Quick! Call the herders, we’ll need all the help we can get.” Then, not realizing that he had not told the message to the girls, he left the house, and raced toward the bunkhouse, shouting to Lopez.

In half an hour many things had been hurriedly done. Malcolm, who had raced after Harry, returned as he had promised Virginia that he would to tell the girls the meaning of the message. It was. “The sheep are south of Agua Prieta. Get them at once. Drive to Rebano Rancho. Do away with herders.”

“Brother! Brother!” Virginia sobbed. “Are we too late? Have they done away with the herders? Oh, tell me, what do you think?”

“Harry and I believe that whoever is to get the sheep is still waiting for the carrier pigeon and if so Tom may as yet be unharmed. Our hope is, since the message has not been delivered, that we may reach Agua Prieta before the rustlers receive an order from some other source. If we do, we may be able to regain the sheep and save our friend Tom.” Then he added, “I know you girls are terribly tired but I think that you would better return with us as our way to Agua Prieta leads so close to V. M. What do you think, Virginia?”

But Mrs. Wilson would not hear of it. “Do let the poor dears rest,” she said. “They look as pale as lilies and wilted ones at that. I’m expecting my younger son, Benjy, to return home tomorrow and on the day after he will gladly escort the girls to V. M.”

Bab’s heart gave a leap of joy when she heard that she was to see her friend Benjamin Wilson so soon again, and that evening, when the young men had ridden to the south, after having partaken of a bounteous repast, the girls and Mrs. Wilson sat in the big living-room where a log from the mountains was burning cheerily on the hearth.

Mrs. Wilson had been delighted to find that Babs knew her younger son and she wanted to know all about the Drexel Military Academy, and so, to pass the time and to permit Virginia to follow her own thoughts uninterrupted, Babs recounted to a delighted listener the story of her acquaintance, beginning with the surprise Valentine party, where she had first met Benjy, telling of the afternoon in town where she and the lad had seats next to each other at the theater, and ending with the April Fool letter and the happy culmination of the romance of their two instructors, Miss Piquilin and Professor Pixley.

The good woman beamed at the petite girl whom she thought almost too pretty and fragile “like a bit of porcelain that ought to be kept in a glass case,” but aloud she said, “I’m real glad you know my boy. Like ’tis you’re about his age.”

“I’m fifteen,” Barbara replied, “and Benjy told me that he would be sixteen this month I believe.” Mrs. Wilson nodded, “Yes, my boy is sixteen now.” Then she added with pride glowing in her kindly eyes, “I don’t know where he took it from, but he sure has a great head for the learning. His teacher here in the Red Riverton school said that Benjy didn’t no more than open his book before he knew his lesson, seemed like. His daddy and I had always had a hankering to have one son as would have a college education, and so, ever since our first boy came, we put away some money every month in the old tea pot with the nose broken off and we called it ‘Hal’s schoolin’ fund,’ but Harry didn’t want a higher education and so he said, ‘Send Benjy, mother. We’ll make a scholar of him, but I’ll stick to the sheep raisin’.’ That’s how it came that Benjy was sent East to school, but come now, it’s late and I know you’re all tired out. Being as there are three of you, how do you wish to divide?”

“We don’t divide,” Margaret laughingly replied. “We sleep all together,” but there was one of the three who did not close her eyes until morning, and even then she did not sleep for over and over again her thought kept repeating, “If only I could help save Tom.”

CHAPTER XLVI—AN EARLY MORNING RIDE.

On the morning following the departure of Harry, Malcolm and the herder, Lopez, the three girls awakened with different emotions in their hearts.

Virginia, who had not slept at all until nearly morning, awoke with a sense of great weariness and then, of even greater anxiety. It seemed strange to her that she should care so much for one whom she had known for so short a time. Perhaps it was because Tom had seemed to need someone to be loving and kind, he was so all alone in the world. Barbara on the contrary, awakened with a consciousness of a delighted anticipation, and springing up, she merrily exclaimed, “Oh, girls, just think! This is the day that you are to meet that nice boy, Benjy Wilson. I wonder at what hour he is to arrive?”

A surprise awaited them, for a little later, when the three girls trooped out to the kitchen from which a tempting odor of frying ham and eggs and steaming coffee was wafted, they saw not only the bustling, motherly woman, Mrs. Wilson, but standing near the range, warming his hands over the heat, was a tall, comely youth, dressed in the uniform of a military academy.

He glanced up when he heard the girls entering, and it was evident by his expression that his mother had not told him of the near presence of his friend from the East.

Leaping forward with outstretched hands, his face alight, the lad exclaimed, “Am I seeing visions? Miss Barbara, this surely cannot be you! Only last week I rode over to your school to bid you good-bye and ask when you were coming to visit your friends in Arizona. I was told that all of the pupils had suddenly departed because of an epidemic, and I deeply regretted not being able to see you and make plans for re-meeting you here on the desert. I little supposed that you would be awaiting me in my very own home.”

Barbara laughed. “I do not wonder that you are amazed,” she declared. “We three girls have been living in a whirl of strange adventure of late, and honestly I am not at all sure that we are real. Perhaps, as you first suggested, we may be merely visions, and yet,” she added doubtfully as she sniffed the appetizing odors, “can a vision be ravenously hungry for ham and eggs and coffee? But I am quite forgetting my manners. Doesn’t it seem queer that I had to cross a continent to introduce Miss Virginia Davis to her neighbor, Mr. Benjamin Wilson? This other fair maid with violets for eyes and the dimples we all envy, is, or rather was, my room-mate, Margaret Selover, of whom I have often told you.”

Benjy acknowledged the introductions with a grace of manner which he had readily acquired during his year at the military academy, and his fond mother watching the lad, her eyes shining with pride, secretly congratulated herself that she and “pa” had gone without many little things that the money might be put in the broken nosed tea-pot for Benjy’s education fund.

“Come to breakfast everybody,” she now sang out in her pleasant, hearty way, “and do eat all that you possibly can for you have a long ride ahead of you.

“But there, Benjy doesn’t know a word of all that has happened. He arrived just a few minutes ago and took me so by surprise that I’ve hardly got my breath to coming right yet. Do set down, all of you, and while you’re eating, suppose you tell my boy just what has happened. Then, if he isn’t too tired with traveling, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to escort you back to V. M. ranch. Maybe though, he’d rather be waitin’ till tomorrow.”

Benjy’s curiosity had been greatly aroused by this conversation which suggested interesting adventure of some kind, and so as soon as the young people were seated, he begged Babs to begin at the beginning and tell him all that had happened. As the story progressed the boy ceased eating and listened with eager intentness, and when Babs finished speaking, Benjy exclaimed, “We will not wait until tomorrow. With mother’s permission we will start south as soon as I can get into my riding togs.”

It was still early morning when the four riders departed from the group of white ranch buildings, the girls having bidden the kind Mrs. Wilson an affectionate farewell, promising that, as soon as Tom had been found, they would return and spend a week on the sheep ranch.

The good woman looked with especial interest at the petite Barbara. “Poor little lamb,” she was thinking with sudden tears in her eyes. “Such a mite of a girl to be all alone in the world without a mother and her poor brother lost. How proud that mother would have been had she lived, for a sweeter, prettier, little girl never trod this earth.” Then, as she returned indoors, having waved for the last time to the riders, who were rapidly disappearing toward the mountains, she recalled the tall-good-looking lad whom she had seen riding close to Barbara’s side.

“I wish my boy might be worthy of a girl like little Barbara,” she thought. “A fine pair they would make and what happiness ’twould be for them both, and for me.” Then as she happened to glance into the hat-rack mirror, she smiled a queer little smile with lips that were quivering. “Well, now, Matilda Wilson,” she said aloud to her reflection, “if you aren’t matchmaking, and it’s a thing you’ve always said you wouldn’t do, for it’s just a interferin’ in other folks’ lives. What’s more, the two of them are only children, still a-going to school, but I guess mothers are all the same,” she added as she went kitchenward, “first off we try to keep our boys just little fellows and then, when all of a sudden we see that they’re nearly young men, we begin to choose a girl we want them to marry, but I’ll try to welcome whoever they choose just as I’d want some other boy’s mother to welcome a girl of mine if I had one.” Then, as the good woman poured boiling water over a great pan full of dishes, her thoughts wandered, with equal pride, from Benjy to her older son, Harry. “Whoever gets Hal for a husband,” she thought, “gets a man to lean on who won’t prove a bending reed when trouble comes. He hasn’t the nice, easy manner, maybe, that Benjy has, but Hal’s honest and dependable. He never seemed to take to girls, though, so maybe he won’t be one to marry, but, if he does, I wonder, now, who it will be. I hope someone I’d like real well, but if ’tisn’t, I won’t let that make any difference. The dear boy will never know it, or the girl either.”

It almost seemed as if the mother heart knew instinctively that Harry’s choice was to be someone of whom she could not really approve, and yet, how could she know, for Harry had not even met the girl who was to be the one dearest of all in his life.

It was nearly noon when the four riders drew near the walled-in Papago village and Virginia suggested that they lunch with her dear friend Winona, daughter of the Chief Grey Hawk.

Benjy was surprised to hear the proud declaration of friendship that this white girl made for a maiden of a race so unlike her own, but he said nothing, although he secretly wondered what manner of a maid Winona might be.

Virginia had no trouble whatever in finding the almost hidden entrance in the mountain wall that surrounded the Papago village for she had carefully noted its exact relation to the clump of cactus on her last visit, and so it was that Winona, happening to look up from the little class which she had gathered about her in the shade of the cliff, was both delighted and surprised to see the four riders approaching her, three of whom she knew. The lad she had never seen before.

Springing up, with the grace which was always in her every movement, she approached the girls who had dismounted with outstretched hands, and Benjy was amazed to note the real beauty of the dusky maiden whose noble, intelligent face was aglow with the joy of so soon again seeing her beloved Virginia.

The lad acknowledged his introduction to the Indian girl and heard her saying, “You are the son of our nearest neighbor to the north? We Papagoes often climb to the summit of the mountain overlooking your ranch, Mr. Wilson, but we never descend on the other side. Our pilgrimages always take us to the south it would seem.”

Then to Virginia she added, “It is high sun, so let us go to my home and lunch together.” Turning to the group of unkempt little Indian girls who still seated on the ground, were watching wide-eyed she said something in their own tongue. The listeners concluded that it was a dismissal of the class for the morning, and they were right, for with joyful little cries such as delighted puppies might have uttered, the Indian children sprang up, then to the utter amazement of the watching lad, they surrounded the smiling Babs who, reaching out her arms, gathered in as many of them as she could.

Benjy’s first impulse was to draw Barbara away from the embrace of the “Indian brats,” but when that girl looked up at him, her pretty flower face aglow, he realized that they weren’t wild, uncouth creatures to her, but just little children who loved her, and who were begging her in their own queer language to come and play with them “Ring-around-a-rosie.”

When Winona had interpreted their request, Barbara exclaimed merrily, “The rest of you may prepare the lunch. Until it is ready I’ll romp with the kiddies.”

“May I play, too?” Benjy heard himself asking. Babs nodded gaily, and while the three older girls went indoors to prepare a simple meal of cold corn bread, milk and fruit, Barbara and Benjy skipped about with the shouting little Indian children in a circle which was ever widening because of the arrival of other youngsters who were attracted from their dooryards by the sounds of merriment.

It was 2 o’clock before the riders, having said farewell to Winona and to the children, left the walled-in village and started on the long four-hours’ ride toward V. M.

Uncle Tex had seen them coming from afar. In fact, the old man had gone every hour to the window to look toward the sand hills to see if his Miss Virginia was returning. What joy there was in that faithful heart when the girl whom he so loved leaped from her horse and embraced him. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said, “is there any news? Tell me quickly what has happened? Did Malcolm come this way?”

The old man nodded. “Yes, Miss Virginia, dear, but Mister Malcolm didn’t stop long, just to tell me what ’twas he planned doin’ and bid me keep a watchout fo’ yo’. Ah’s been that anxious, Miss Virginia, dearie, but Ah’ll feel better now, as yo’ are home again.” Then when the girls had gone to their rooms, the old man said in a low voice to Benjy; “Ah don’ want to worry the gals more’n need be, but Ah’s powerful anxious about Malcolm and yo’ brother, for they has gone to a mighty dangerous place. Ah knows the rustlers over the border and thar’s nothin’ as they’d stop at, but shh! Here come the gals. Make out as we was talkin’ of suthin’ else.” But Benjy’s anxiety had been greatly increased and though he did talk of something else, his thoughts were busily trying to contrive some way that he might leave the girls and ride to his brother’s assistance.

The young people had reached the ranch in the late afternoon and half an hour after their arrival Uncle Tex suddenly realized that it was nearing the supper hour and that probably the newcomers would be very hungry after their long hard ride and so he departed kitchenward to prepare the evening repast.

He had been gone only a few minutes, however, when he returned to the living-room, and, one glance at his face convinced the young people he had something to tell them which had greatly excited him.

“Horsemen a comin’. Like ’tis three or four,” he said. “Yo’ all can see them from the kitchen porch. Ah’s a hopin’ it’s Malcolm and the rest, but they’re too far off yet to be tellin’.”

With rapidly beating hearts the young people hurried to the high porch at the back of the house and Virginia gazed through the powerful glasses.

“Uncle Tex is right,” she said. “I see several dark objects moving in this direction and I am sure they are horsemen. Oh, how I do hope Tom is with them. I haven’t slept, that is, not restfully, since I knew that Tom was lost.”

Margaret, noting that Virginia looked pale and worn from days of anxiety, slipped an arm about her friend and led her back to the living-room.

“Let’s rest,” she said, “while Uncle Tex prepares supper. I’m sure he would rather have us out of the kitchen.”

“I’ll stay and help!” Benjy told them. “I’m a fine cook, if I do say it. I’ve had a lot of experience when in camp with the herders.”

The truth was that Benjy was eager to be alone with the old man that he might learn from him what he really thought about the approach of the riders.

When the girls were gone, the boy closed the door very softly that it might not attract their attention nor arouse their curiosity, then going to the range where the old man was replenishing the fire he asked, “Uncle Tex, did you think you saw four horsemen?”

The old man shook his head. “No, Mista Benjy. I don’t honest believe I did. Maybe ’twas though, and maybe ’twasn’t. Wall, we’ll soon know, for if ’tis Malcolm, he’ll be here ’bout as soon as we have supper ready.”

Never was a half hour passed in greater anxiety, but even when supper was ready and waiting the horsemen did not appear.

“Perhaps after all they were bound for the Slater Ranch,” Virginia said.

Disappointed and with a feeling of depression the young people gathered about the table when suddenly they heard a shouting without, and in another moment the front door burst open.

CHAPTER XLVII—APPROACHING HORSEMEN.

Virginia leaped forward with a cry of joy and was caught in her brother’s close embrace. Harry followed, but though they all gazed eagerly back of these two, hoping to see another lad coming in from the gathering darkness, none appeared. Hal was closing the door, and so, of course, there was no one to come.

“Oh, brother,” Virginia exclaimed, “you didn’t find Tom. Tell me quickly what has happened?”

“That I will,” was the reply, “but since Harry and I are almost famished, may I tell the story while we are at supper?”

A few moments later, when they were gathered about the table, Uncle Tex standing near, Malcolm related their experiences.

“We followed the directions in the message taken from the carrier pigeon, and reached the mountain pass south of Agua Prieta where we expected to find the sheep. Lopez knows several Mexicans living in Agua Prieta; in fact, he has relatives there, and they gladly joined us when we told them what the reward would be if we could regain the lost Merinos and save our friend, Tom. It was nearing nightfall when we ascended a mountain on foot to a point where we could look over into the pass. There, to our great delight, we beheld the lost flock. Two Mexicans, whom Lopez recognized as well known rustlers, were seated by a camp fire close to a jutting boulder near the entrance of the pass. Lopez offered to creep as close as he could to them and report their conversation. This he did while we waited at the outer entrance, our guns drawn, for well we knew that if Lopez made the slightest sound, or in any way betrayed his near presence, he would need our immediate assistance. But luckily the two rustlers were so engrossed with their own grievances that they were not on the outlook for spies.

“After a time Lopez crept back and beckoned us to follow him, which we did.

“He led us some distance away, where in a cave-like shelter, he told us what he had heard. Our friend Tom, he said, was alive unless he had starved. The sheep were all there and the men were impatiently awaiting the carrier pigeon which was to bring them further orders.

“‘But Tom?’ I said. ‘Tell us where he is that we may go at once to his assistance.’ Lopez looked troubled. Then he told us that our friend had been practically buried alive. That is, he had been imprisoned in an adobe hut and without food. The boy Francesco Quintano Mendoza was with him. ‘Tom must have been in that tomb for over a week,’ I said, ‘and if he has been without food all that time of course he is dead; but let us go to him at once.’

“Lopez, it seemed, did not know the location of the adobe hut. However, one of the men from Agua Prieta did know, and he led us to the place which was not far distant. My heart was heavy and sad as we approached that lonely crumbling old adobe hut, wooden windows and doors of which were fastened with iron bars. I was sure we would find that Tom and the faithful little Mexican boy had starved, but, as we neared, Lopez uttered an exclamation, pointing to a hole near the ground which had evidently been made by the prisoners. It was small, but Lopez managed to creep through and enter the hut. He soon reappeared assuring us that it was empty. This was indeed good news and we at once returned to Agua Prieta where we were to spend the night. There we were informed that a young man answering Tom’s description and a small Mexican boy had left the day before on foot and had gone toward the north. Harry and I rode away from the Mexican village early this morning, Lopez having remained to get possession of the flock if he could. Hal and I did not ride directly to V. M. but instead we followed many side trails, hoping that we would come upon Tom, but when nightfall was approaching, we decided to come home and start out again tomorrow morning.”

“And I will accompany you,” Benjy said eagerly.

CHAPTER XLVIII—TOM’S RETURN.

Everyone in the ranch house the next morning was astir long before daybreak. The boys breakfasted at once and were in the saddle just as the sun was rising above the low line of the desert horizon in the far East.

How the girls did wish they, too, might accompany the lads who were to separate, each following a different trail that they might surely find Tom if he were endeavoring to walk to V. M. Each boy was leading a saddle horse, knowing only too well that Tom, after his week of starvation, would be greatly enfeebled. Malcolm advised them all to ride slowly, hallooing often and searching each sand hollow and mesquite clump which they might pass.

“We must make every effort to save poor Tom and the faithful little Mexican boy,” he told them before they parted on the south bank of the dry creek.

The three girls stood on the high back porch watching the lads ride away until one by one they had disappeared, or had become but moving specks in the far distance.

Then they re-entered the ranch house. “It’s much harder to remain at home and do nothing than it is to be actively assisting in the search,” Margaret declared, “but since Malcolm believed that we would better remain here, of course we must abide by his decision.”

“Brother thought that Tom might return to V. M. without having been found by the boys and of course if he does we will wish to be here to welcome him,” Virginia said. A busy morning followed, Virg assisted Uncle Tex with the baking, while the other girls tidied the house. Then, after lunch, they went to their rooms to try to rest, and so weary were they, that in spite of their anxiety, they slept.

It was mid-afternoon when the girls gathered with their sewing in the big cool living-room.

“Barbara, will you go to the kitchen porch and look toward the Seven Peak Trail and see what you can see.”

Babs complied with Virginia’s wish but returned shaking her head.

“I looked through the glass, Virg, in all directions,” she said, “but I saw nothing at all that was moving.”

“Hark!” Virginia exclaimed, sitting up and listening intently, “Megsy, dear, didn’t you hear a hallooing just then, or is it something my own ears hear that isn’t real?”

Babs and Margaret hurried to the window and opened it wide. Again they heard the hallooing, close at hand.

“Two horses are coming,” Megsy exclaimed excitedly, “and yes, surely the rider in the lead is Malcolm and on the horse following there are two, so it must be Tom, though his hat is drawn down so far I cannot see his face.”

Virginia joined the others. “It is! It surely must be Tom,” she cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes aglow with hope.

The girls turned as the door burst open and Malcolm entered, followed truly enough by the lost Tom, looking pale and worn. Before anyone could speak, a glad cry rang out, and everyone turned to look at Babs whose face was radiant with sudden joy.

“Peyton! My brother!”

“Little sister! God is good!” The lad held the girl close and there were tears in his eyes. Then he reached a hand out to Virginia, and Margaret, watching, knew by the way that he looked at the western girl, that he too cared.

Half an hour later, when Tom had recounted his recent thrilling adventures, Virg rose, saying that since they must be about starved, she would prepare the evening meal.

“I wish the others would return in time for supper,” Babs said. “Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings,” Margaret sang out, holding up a finger as she spoke. Without could be heard the galloping of horses’ feet.

“Rather say, ‘bad pennies are sure to turn up,’ Malcolm exclaimed laughingly, adding with sudden seriousness, “but that is hardly fair, for a finer chap than Harry Wilson it would be hard to find.” Then, as he glanced out of the window he informed the others. “It is Hal, and his younger brother, I judge, is with him. They are dismounting down by the corral. Mendoza Quintano is racing to meet them. He just adores Harry. When Hal sees the Mexican lad, he will, of course, know that Tom has been found. Sure enough, here he comes sprinting at top speed.”

A second later, Harry Wilson sprang through the door which Malcolm had opened for him, and going to Tom, he embraced him as tenderly as he would a brother.

Later that afternoon Babs and her brother were alone; Virginia having thoughtfully arranged it, for she felt sure that the reunited brother and sister would have much to say to each other just by themselves.

“Peyton,” Babs said, slipping her hand in his, “you haven’t asked me about father.”

“Dad doesn’t care about me,” the boy said sorrowfully, “I wish he did.”

Barbara was about to tell her brother all that had happened and how changed her father was, when something occurred to assure him of this more forcefully than Babs could have done.

Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle tapping on the closed door, and Virginia’s voice called, “Babs, dear, Lucky just rode in with the mail. There are several letters for you and one that I thought you and Peyton might like to read together.” The young people had agreed to call Tom by his real name, although at first this would be hard to do.

“Thank you,” Barbara replied, while the lad, having leaped to his feet, opened the door and took the letters from Virginia.

A second later Babs exclaimed, “Oh, brother, here is one from poor dear father. I always think of him pityingly, ever since the day when I returned from school unexpectedly and found him pacing up and down in the library looking so desolate and so all alone. I didn’t understand then, but now I know that through the three years that you have been away he has been grieving for you. I shall never forget how he reached out his arms, when he saw me, and how tenderly he said, ‘You are like your mother, Barbara. She came to me when I needed her most just as you have come. If only that other Barbara had lived, all this would not have happened.’ He meant that our dear mother would have understood you better.” Then, after a moment Barbara added, “But brother, I wonder if you and I have ever really tried to understand our father. There must be a very kind heart under his reserve, else our mother, who was so joyous in her nature, would not have loved him. We never thought of it before that way, did we, brother?”

“No,” the lad replied, and there was a quiver in his voice. “I was very young and very head-strong and I felt, if I wanted to ruin my life, as dad declared that I would, it was my own life and I ought to be permitted to ruin it. Read the letter, sister. What has our father written?”

But, though Babs tried hard, she could not read aloud the message. The true feeling of her father, that had never been expressed in spoken words to his children, was revealed to them in the few heartbroken sentences that he had penned.

“Barbara, my little girl, I hope you will want to go home with me. You are all I have now. I have searched this country over and I cannot find my son; my other Barbara’s little boy, and how she loved him! I wanted to find him that I might ask him to forgive me, for I believe that somehow the fault must have been mine.”

“Babs! Little sister!” Peyton exclaimed as he sprang up. “Where is father now? I am going to him, at once, tonight if I can.”

The other young people were surprised to learn that Peyton had decided to leave for Texas, that very night, but Virginia was indeed glad when she learned that he was to be reunited with his father.

After supper the other boys accompanied Peyton to the Junction where he departed on the 10 o’clock train.

The next morning Harry and Benny rode away, promising, however, that they would return in a fortnight, when Margaret and Barbara were planning a surprise house party for Virginia’s seventeenth birthday.

The further adventures of these young people will be found in a book entitled, “Virginia of V. M. Ranch and Her Friends.”

The End.