Sandy rode with Julie.

“Verny, haven’t you heard from Gilly since he wrote us that he was planning the trip to Arizona and New Mexico?” asked Juliet Lee, one of the girl scouts of Dandelion Troop.

“Only the telegram from Mr. Gilroy, which came yesterday, telling us that he had mailed a letter of particulars the day before. I did not expect to receive it from Denver in twenty-four hours’ time, you know,” was Mrs. Vernon’s smiling reply.

“No; but it ought to arrive to-night or to-morrow morning,” said Julie, meditatively.

“I hope we start right off, Verny. It would be dreadful if we had to lose a week of our summer’s vacation,” declared Elizabeth Lee, who was always known as “Betty” by her family and friends.

“Well, at least, we have our things all ready to pack the moment we find out when to start and where to meet Gilly,” remarked Joan Allison, one of the group of scouts that had spent the preceding summer, with Mr. Gilroy as their host, in the Rocky Mountains.

A mournful wail from Ruth Bentley, another girl in that group of mountain scouts, prevented Mrs. Vernon from speaking. “I’d so much rather go with you all and have the wonderful times you will have this summer, than have to accompany father and mother to Europe! If only Dad could see that I might be educated better on this scout tour than in Paris, he might change his mind. But he refuses to see !

Julie laughingly added: “Remember the biblical words, Ruth? ‘Eyes have they and they see not.’”

“Well, that’s Dad!” exclaimed Ruth.

“I am so thankful that I am able to go with you this summer that I am just keeping quiet and marking time. I feel as if I must wake up and find it all a dream, should I express my joy as fervently as I want to,” was Hester Wynant’s humorous declaration.

“We’re all glad with you, Hesty. While we were ‘doing the Rockies’ last summer, we often said how nice it would be to have had you there,” added Anne Bailey. “This year you might say as much of me.”

There were other girls in that scout meeting held at Mrs. Vernon’s home this first day of the summer vacation of the Elmertown school; but these girls, because they could not be with their chums on the southwestern tour, seemed too disconsolate to make any remarks about the proposed interesting trip.

It is taken for granted that the reader has heard of these girl scouts who, each summer after the closing of school, endeavor to visit a famous range of mountains, and thus became distinguished as the Mountain Scouts.

The first summer of their scoutdom they camped upon a ridge of the Blue Mountains in New Jersey. Here they acquired the knowledge, and tested their ability, to join the National Organization of Girl Scouts; later when they had two Patrols, according to rules, they were enrolled and became known as the Girl Scouts of Dandelion Troop.

It was during their first camping season that they went to Blue Beard’s cave, one of the local points of interest, and discovered a man who had been injured by two escaped convicts, who, after robbing him, managed to get away. The poor man was unconscious and would have died in that dark and seldom-visited cave on the top of the mountain had it not been for the timely assistance given him by the scouts and their Captain.

Back in the mountain camp Mr. Gilroy, the convalescing guest of Dandelion Patrol, explained how he came to visit Blue Beard’s cave that day. Thus the girls learned that he was a great admirer of scout work and had been a patron of the Boys’ Scout Organization. The junior scouts who had rescued him now decided to enlist his interests in the Girls’ Scout Organization, as well.

Mr. Gilroy continued his visit at the Dandelion Camp for a few days after he felt completely restored to normal strength, and, during this visit, became deeply interested in Mrs. Vernon’s plans and propositions for her girls. Because of the first aid rendered him in his hour of extremity, Mr. Gilroy insisted upon having the Scout Patrol visit his Adirondack Estate the following summer. To this unexpected proposition the girls gladly agreed, providing their parents and Mrs. Vernon would consent and advance the necessary money to defray the costs of the trip.

Hence the second summer of the Dandelion Troop of Girl Scouts was spent on the shores of First Lake, one of the Fulton Chain of lakes. There was a boys’ camp a mile away, and Mr. Gilroy divided his time and interest between the two camps. The girls won such favor, however, that their host invited them to accompany him the following summer on a camping trip through the Rocky Mountains.

Mrs. Vernon, who had founded Dandelion Troop, was the Captain of the scouts; Juliet Lee was their Leader; and Joan Allison was the Corporal. Since that first enrollment, when there were but four girls, namely: Julie and Betty Lee; Joan Allison, and Ruth Bentley, there were now two flourishing Patrols. In Patrol Number One were the first four girls, and Hester Wynant, Amy Ward, Edith and Judith Blake and Anne Bailey. Patrol Number Two was larger, but the members were younger. It was Patrol Number One that had spent the second summer in the Adirondacks.

There were but five girls of Patrol Number One who went to the Rockies for the third season. They were: Julie and Betty Lee, Joan Allison, Ruth Bentley and Anne Bailey. Hester Wynant could not go because she had been needed at home. Mrs. Blake had refused to hear of having her two girls go and, perhaps, risk their being lost or killed in the wild and woolly west. Amy Ward’s mother listened to Mrs. Blake; hence Amy Ward had remained home.

Now, this fourth summer for mountaineering, the plan of visiting Arizona and New Mexico appealed so strongly to every girl in Dandelion Troop that mothers had heard nothing, morning, noon, and night, for weeks, but glowing accounts of this trip. A very important factor brought to bear in their arguments for this southwestern trip being that not one of those girls who had gone to the Rockies had been lost or injured as Mrs. Blake had foretold. Instead of disaster and troubles, the scouts had returned to Elmertown looking the picture of health and happiness.

Mrs. Blake, however, held up both hands in horror when a trip to New Mexico and Arizona was suggested; and, through her vehement objections, she influenced her friend, Mrs. Ward, to keep Amy home this time as aforetime. Thus, three bitterly rebellious girls sat with their fellow-scouts that day in Mrs. Vernon’s home, and cried over the fate of having such unreasoning mothers.

“Our list has dwindled to four girls; one less than we had on the Rocky Mountain trip. Ruth has to accompany her parents to Europe, but I wish she could have this rare treat, instead of Paris,” sighed Mrs. Vernon. “As for Judith and Edith and Amy—well! I dare not say what is in my heart, but I wish I was their mother, that’s all!”

“How we wish you were, Verny!” exclaimed all three girls.

“If my sister would postpone her wedding day till October, I, too, could go with you,” remarked Anne Bailey. “But Eleanor says the last week of July is the only time Henry can take a vacation; so the wedding has to be then. I’d a heap rather be scouting out west with you girls than be a bridesmaid at a wedding. If I ever become engaged to marry, I won’t be so selfish as to insist upon keeping my younger sister home from a glorious summer-tour for nothing more than a poky ceremony that takes only five minutes! Just think of me losing all your fun this summer and moping, instead, about a house that is turned topsy-turvy for a prospective bride.”

“We will miss you awfully, Anne,” said Julie, teasingly, “because we won’t know what to do with the left-overs from the camp meals.” Anne was a healthy, hearty eater, and during the summer in the Rockies had made the most of every opportunity to eat.

“Perhaps you will command your younger sister as Eleanor now commands you, Anne, when you are Eleanor’s age and have a beau,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, smilingly.

“Verny! I want you to wake me up sharply if you find me, at the age of twenty, hypnotized with any young man that happens to cast an eye upon my fair face,” laughed Anne. “A girl, now-days, ought to remain single till she is twenty-five or -six. Then she knows her own mind, and won’t hanker for a divorce the moment she learns she will have to cook and sew for a man she thought was to be her permanent supply for candy, flowers, and theater-parties.”

The scouts laughed merrily; Anne’s views were well known to them, because she took every opportunity to speak her mind on the subject of sweethearts. “Without any prospects other than love!” was her usual conclusion.

“Well, scouts, as I was saying long before all these digressions, the applicants for this trip are Julie and Betty Lee, Joan Allison, and Hester Wynant. If you can bring about a change of heart in your parents before we actually leave here, there will be no difficulty in tucking you in at the last moment of the last day,” suggested Mrs. Vernon. “Even should a mother relent later, you can wire us and come on to the nearest railroad stop, where we can pick you up for the tag end of the tour.”

“Verny, that might answer in my case!” exclaimed Anne Bailey. “If Eleanor is safely married, I can rush away the last of July and join you for the month of August. I may not get the whole loaf, but a slice of bread will be better than none, you know.”

“Besides, mother may relent when she sees the postal cards of all the beautiful places you visit,” added Amy Ward, eagerly. “Once you are away from the Grand Canyon that Mrs. Blake is forever harping about, my parents may consent to let me go with Anne, in August.”

“That would be great, Amy!” exclaimed Joan, gladly.

“Well, then, girls, say we leave the matter open,” said Mrs. Vernon. “Any scout who can secure the consent of her parents to allow her to join us out west during this summer that we plan to spend there, will be told exactly how to reach us. For this purpose I propose Joan, the scribe, to keep those back home fully informed of our plans and proposed stopping places each coming week. In this way you can keep tabs on our movements, and can reach us by telegraph any time we might be in a town where there is telegraph communication.” As the speaker concluded this encouraging amendment to the stern parents’ verdict, the maid knocked at the door of the large living-room.

“Come in, Mary,” called Mrs. Vernon, glancing at the half-opened door.

“Shure, ma’am, it’s onny the letter ye’es was a-lookin’ fer awl ov yistiddy. Here it be’es.” So saying, Mary handed a thick letter to her mistress.

“Oh, girls!” exclaimed the scout Captain, “it’s from Mr. Gilroy.”

Exclamations and sounds of delight came from every one present and, immediately, Mrs. Vernon was surrounded by eager girls. No time was lost in tearing open the envelope and in removing the typewritten instructions.

As the Captain unfolded the paper, she said: “How nice it is to have had this arrive while you were still present. Now we shall read the news together.”

Realizing that every scout was impatient with eagerness to hear the contents of the momentous letter, Mrs. Vernon began to read without further delay.

“My dear pals of the Rockies:

I suppose you received my telegram which was sent to prepare you for the coming of this volume. Now that I have completed it, I am sending it to you without reading it again to see that every punctuation mark is in place, and that the i’s are dotted, or the t’s crossed, knowing, as I do, that my brilliant readers will not find fault with my style no matter what errors mark its literary value. After these few words of preface, dear readers, I must unburden my soul of the weight that is oppressing it.

The weight, at present, consists of the etcetera of preparing a group of lively scouts for a desert life in New Mexico and Arizona. Such preparation includes, item: a stock of rain and dew that must last us throughout the season spent on the hot sands and in the sun-baked atmosphere of the Bad Land; also, item: tents inside which you will have to crawl to keep your eyes from star-blind; item: the Japanese parasols for day use, which must intervene between you and the dense shade thrown by the giant cactus plants which grow in jungled luxuriance on the southwestern deserts.

Thus far, I have not been able to secure the special brand of ice which is guaranteed not to melt in July and August; but I have hopes of finding enough of this necessity near Gallinas Canyon to last us for our trip of desert touring. Now, Captain, and Leader, and Corporal, dears, please read the foregoing to the timid parents in Elmertown and assure them that such dangers as I have mentioned are positively the only ones to be found in the wilderness of this isolated corner of the universe. Perhaps my description may influence one or more of the mothers to make concessions to their daughters’ own wishes to come west and try out the desert. Then, verily, would the “desert blossom as a rose,” with a bouquet of lovely blossoms as I know Dandelions to be.

But I must cease my floral flatteries and confine myself to the merely practical part of this letter. As a foreword to such material information, let me tell you, girls, that our old friend Tally has agreed to guide us throughout the entire trip; Omney signed up with an English party of tourists who are doing Colorado and Wyoming, hence he is now breaking his heart because he had not known of our summer plans in time to have shared Tally’s joys. I’m sorry for him, but glad to have Tally.

You scouts know quite well what sort of outfit to carry on this tour of the southwest; because it will be the same as that which you brought last summer for the camping in the Rockies. There will be just as cold nights, and the peaks just as high as those we had last summer. Because we speak of a desert in Arizona, one must not think that it will be the broiling heat of the Sahara, though I will say that our western deserts can produce a pretty good imitation of the Far East patented and copyrighted article. Therefore, and whereas, I will add, a change to summer apparel might be pleasant if you happen to stray to the middle of one of these sand-spots at noon-day. Use your judgment about mosquito-netting dresses, but use my judgment about flannel underwear, woolen golf-stockings and pure wool knickers and shirt-waists.

We shall not take a French laundress on this trip, neither will we establish a hair-dressing and manicuring parlor de luxe at every halt, so leave your beauty implements at home and resign yourself to trust Nature for the genuine article this season.

Now, having given you an itemized list of what you will not need for this outing, I will proceed to give you directions of how to find me one week from Monday—the Monday I am mailing this letter, and not next Monday week, or two weeks before last Monday.

I know a Proverb—I can hear you laugh, but I really do read the Bible—that says, “The better the day the better the deed,” so I want to start you off on your summer trip on the best day in the week—Sunday. If you take the train from Elmertown early Sunday morning you can get the Chicago Limited which leaves Philadelphia on Sunday afternoon. I figure you will save time and money by going to Philly instead of to Trenton, the latter being almost as far east from your town as the former is west, but west is your destination, hence—well, I need not explain to girl scouts.

This Limited will stop at Philadelphia, if Julie will stand on the track and flag it energetically, after the manner she signaled from the bluff that time when she was wrecked in the rapids. I’m sure you will find seats on the ocean-side of the train to Chicago, if you use one of those sweet scout smiles at the gruff old conductor on the train. Tell him you are personal friends of mine if you want to get thrown off the rear platform of the train at the next water-tank. He knows me well, hence he has vowed to use the gilded rule on me and mine, and treat all my friends as he would treat me.

If you can manage to stick to the Limited till she pulls into Chi., I’ll meet you at the station and get even with your conductor for bringing you safely to your destination.

If you get those knobs of rock, which the Pullman Company designate as feather pillows, and learn that you cannot rest your tender heads upon them, use your suit-cases instead; you’ll find them much softer and more apt to give you pleasant dreams. I’ve used my metal box which I carry for mineral specie and I prefer it to those pillows.

Now, my girls, having written you this valuable advice I feel as if I had earned my night’s sleep. There is one more item you may wish to know—every one asks this question, hence I expect you will: “by which route do we enter the enchanted land of the great southwest?” But I must tell you that I have not yet decided. The agent who keeps such decisions hidden in my subconscious mind expects to let me know in a day or two.

A friend to whom I confided my trouble in selecting a good educational route for this trip told me to have you scouts swim to the Enchanted Cañon. He tells me the Colorado River is unusually wet this season, and will afford you a diversion you never yet experienced. I prefer to ride there on the Santa Fé railroad, though I believe the swim will be much cheaper.

I am inclosing a short itinerary for the Captain to follow, and she will tell you when and where you are to launch this summer’s campaign. Now, if that is all you wish to know, I had best say good-by to you and to Denver for the present, and hie me to Chicago where I will await you on the platform of the station next Monday noon. I have a date with the oculist in the Loop at Chi. to fit me with goggles that give the wearer the faculty of seeing twenty times the focal power of one pair of human eyes, as I will need that many eyes if I have to keep them on you girls this summer.

Consider yourselves paternally kissed upon the brows, my dear girls, because such kisses, via paper, are guaranteed to be strictly hygienic and sanitary. Hence, after this form of affection, I bid you adieu till we meet

The scouts had laughed merrily at this letter, but once it was ended they looked surprised.

“Didn’t he say a word about outfits and routes?” asked Julie, frowning.

“Maybe it is written down on this slip of paper,” said Mrs. Vernon, opening the folded sheet and glancing over it “Yes, he has all the meat of the question on this single sheet,” added she.

After reading it, the Captain said: “Oh, I am so glad!”

“What? What did he say?” chorused the scouts, eagerly.

“Why, he heard from your Unk Verny and he says that he expects to meet us in Kansas City as we go through on the Santa Fé. But Gilly will meet us in Chicago next Monday—to-day is Tuesday. Tally, our guide, will meet us at La Junta. Isn’t that splendid?”

Those scouts who had known Tally, the Indian guide, expressed their delight at the news, and then Mrs. Vernon went on to say: “The main items on this list seems to be repeated every other line. Gilly wishes to impress upon our minds that we must travel light. He also says that he has shopped for all the accessories we might need for the summer, and we are to bring the least possible change of clothing. If we need more at any time it will be easy enough to buy.”

“Next Monday?” exclaimed Anne Bailey. “Then there isn’t a chance for us stay-at-home scouts to convince our parents that they ought to let us go with you.”

“And it isn’t going to give us much time to pack either,” added Julie, dancing a fandango around the room.

“We must send the girls at home a postcard every day,” said Betty. “Then they can use them to make their mothers relent.”

“As long as we are not expected to write. I’ll second that suggestion,” added Joan.

“Well, scouts, I have a motion to put, also,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, “and that is, suppose we adjourn this official meeting and convene at an informal one in the dining-room?”

To this motion every one present cried “aye, aye!” for they knew from past experiences that such informal meetings in the dining-room meant but one thing: ice-cream and great slices of home-made layer-cake. Um-m-m-m!

Pleadings and prayers availed naught for those girls who were yearning to go southwest, yet dared not oppose parental judgment. Hence the Captain and four scouts only took the early Sunday train to Philadelphia, and there boarded the Limited to Chicago.

True to his word, Mr. Gilroy stood waiting at the terminal for the Dandelion party. “‘Oh, say, can you see,’” he began to sing as a welcome to the scouts when they ran down the station platform to greet their friend.

After doing his best to answer the questions of five females who all spoke at the same time, Mr. Gilroy held up both hands in despair. “I’ll do anything you say, girls, but spare the remnant of my ear-drums.”

Thus Mrs. Vernon was given a chance to be heard. “Are we to remain in Chicago for any length of time, Gilly, or do we take a train from here to-day?”

“We leave here this evening at eight on the Santa Fé; I have the railroad and Pullman tickets in my pocket. All you will have to do between now and then is to amuse me,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

“How about taking you for a nice dry walk out on Lake Michigan, as you suggested in your letter of instructions,” giggled Julie.

“Or better still, give you a deep-sea bath up in North Chicago in the vicinity of Edgewater Beach,” added Joan.

“I’ve had both those constitutionals this morning, thank you,” returned Mr. Gilroy instantly.

“Well, then,” declared Mrs. Vernon, “we ought to take you to luncheon and see how much you can eat for the money we are willing to spend on you.”

“Now! that’s more to my fancy,” retorted Mr. Gilroy. “I’ll never refuse an invitation to eat. But, then, you know that, after having hiked the Rockies in my company last summer.”

Mr. Gilroy, as he spoke, escorted the scouts to the taxi-stand. They drove from the station and went along Michigan Boulevard to a well-known caterer’s and there enjoyed the luncheon. Although Mr. Gilroy had been the invited guest of the scouts he managed to turn the tables on them when the check was delivered by the waitress. In spite of all protests, he paid the bill and then laughed at the would-be hostesses.

After leaving the restaurant, Mr. Gilroy secured a large seven-passenger car and took the scouts for a sight-seeing trip. They passed the Museum and Public Library, and then drove up the Lake Shore Drive to Lincoln Park. At the Edgewater Beach hotel they stopped for afternoon tea.

“As this is the last chance you have for the summer to enjoy the social cup, I advise you to make the most of it,” suggested Mr. Gilroy, as he led his party out upon the vast balcony that extends over the Lake.

“How beautiful are the ever-changing colors of the water,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, as she watched the great lake before her.

“It’s said to be one of the most remarkable bodies of water in America, because of its kaleidoscope manner of merging one color to another in so short a time. Look out there by the lighthouse, for instance: the water over there looks quite green. Up to the north it is a deep blue, and down in front of us it is a tawny yellow. Towards Jackson Park it is brown—all at the same time,” remarked Mr. Gilroy.

“But you ought to see it in the winter, folks, when the northeasters tear loose and lash it into a wild beast,” said Mrs. Vernon. “The year Mr. Vernon and I were here we lived at the Grand Beach Hotel, where my windows had a fine view of the water.”

The tea and tempting French pastry now appeared and Lake Michigan became a dry issue to the girls.

Mr. Gilroy and his party boarded the train shortly before the time of its departure, but they had not dined in the city, therefore they sought the dining-car soon after the train pulled out of Chicago. Here they sat and enjoyed the scenery until it was too dark to see anything from the wide windows.

That night on the Pullman sleeping car Julie decided not to miss one bit of that wonderful ride. She literally followed Mr. Gilroy’s suggestion to use the suit-case for her head, but she placed the pillows of the berth on top of the luggage to enable her to prop up her head and gaze from the car window. The moon was almost full, and the silvery translucence which bathed everything seen from the flying train soothed and rested Julie’s nervous activities as she reposed and enjoyed the night scenes.

The speed of the train created a breeze which cooled the hot June night; and, there being little dust along the road bed, not to mention the fact that the smoke from the engine was blown back on the other side of the train, added greatly to the exhilarating delight of the trip.

Julie had a secret mission to perform during this summer’s outing, but she had taken no one into her confidence, not even the Captain, nor her twin-sister Betty. As she rested in a sitting position in the berth, she smiled as she thought of how she had to maneuver since leaving Elmertown on Sunday morning.

“But I did it and no one is the wiser,” murmured Julie to herself. “This ought to be a fine opportunity to write my impressions of Chicago and the railroad journey going west.”

Consequently the girl turned on the small electric light in the berth, and got out a pad of paper and a fountain pen. In a few moments she was scribbling away as if for dear life. She wrote and wrote exactly as though the flowing of the ink from her fountain pen caused an automatic flow of ideas from her brain down to and through her fingers which guided the pen.

After an hour’s steady writing and the rewriting of certain portions of the script, Julie sighed with relief.

“There! Another day’s work reeled off for the Elmertown Record . I wonder what Daddy will say when he reads the story of our daily doings in his own home paper?”

So that was Julie’s secret! One way she had of reaching the mothers of those scouts who were left behind, to tell them of the wonderful opportunities they had caused their daughters to miss; at the same time Julie was earning money—real money—for these contributions to the local newspaper.

Mr. Vernon was waiting for the train when it pulled into the station at Kansas City. His welcome was vociferous from the girls, hearty from Mr. Gilroy, and happy from his wife.

“Well, Gilly, did you fix up the stop-over privileges on your tickets?” asked Mr. Vernon as they all stood on the platform of the station.

“Yes, I arranged it so that we have all day in Kansas City and leave on the 10.20 to-night for the west. Did you wire Tally the change of time when we would arrive at La Junta?”

“Yes, and he wired back that he’d be there on time.”

All that day was spent in seeing the city, and at night the scouts took the train and, after traveling all night and the following morning, arrived in La Junta at one o’clock.

There would be no time to lose at the station, hence both Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon got off to seek Tally and his outfits. In a few moments they caught sight of the Indian and helped him to board the train. The two men assisted Tally in carrying the huge packs to the Pullman, and there the girls eagerly welcomed him.

“Oh, Tally, how do you do?” cried the scouts who had been with the Indian the previous summer.

“Me pooly well,” grinned Tally, pulling off his cap and bobbing his head many times.

Mrs. Vernon, approaching, extended her hand and spoke cordially to the guide, who was devoted to her. With Tally’s advent came also the bulky bundles, but by that usual persuasive power which operates with public servants Mr. Gilroy induced the Pullman porter to stow away the outfit during the remainder of the trip.

The tents, cook-stove, utensils and harness were to be purchased in Trinidad, the junction where Mr. Gilroy planned to leave the train and take to the trail.

Soon after they started southward for the Enchanted Lands Mr. Gilroy began to catechize.

“I see you obeyed my orders to travel light, but I want to know just what you brought. I may have to supplement the baggage at Trinidad.”

Mrs. Vernon enumerated: “We each have a khaki suit; a pure wool suit; waterproof coats; cowboy’s slickers; several pairs of wool golf stockings; three changes of wool underwear—one light weight, two pairs heavy weight; one pair knee-length rubber boots; one pair scout hiking shoes, and one pair riding boots. Then we have a few minor items such as toothbrushes, combs, etcetera.”

As the Captain read from a paper, Mr. Gilroy checked up the items on a memorandum he had taken from his pocket.

“I see where you’ll need more shoes, Captain. Once we start on the trail it will be difficult to get the kind I want the scouts to have this summer. We will try and buy them in Trinidad. Otherwise I shall have to telephone to Denver and have a sport-shop send them to Santa Fé, where we can get them from the express-office.”

“What special kind do you want, Gilly?” asked Mr. Vernon, who had been listening to the conversation.

“Tally says elk-skin boots never shrink when wet, nor do they harden as they dry. They have broad extension soles which keep the stirrups from rubbing against the sides of the foot. These soles, made partly of cork, give a spring and lightness to the hiker, and are thick enough to protect the soles of the feet from being bruised from the sharp projections of the rocks. We figure that a pair of these high boots will last throughout the trip if ordinary care is given them.

“Tally ought to be a competent judge of elk-skin,” returned Mr. Vernon. “If you tried to get them in New York, the chances are you’d get a clever imitation which would soak up into a pulp the first time the girls waded through a stream.”

“That’s why I said nothing about these boots in my letter to the scouts. I wanted to buy them out here where I knew we should find the genuine article,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

During this conversation the scouts had been entertaining Tally with the story of all they had accomplished in their scout work since last he saw them.

Then Tally began a recital of his thrilling experiences through the hunting season in the mountains, while pursuing his usual occupation of trapping and hunting. He had narrated but the first part of these adventures when Mr. Gilroy called to him.

“Say, Tally! what about the horses and packburros? Will your dealer in Denver have them waiting for us at Trinidad, as I ordered?”

“No, Boss; he say me hav’ card to fren’ in Santa Fé who have fine hoss,” replied Tally, showing Mr. Gilroy the note of introduction.

“Great Scott! We want the mounts when we arrive in Trinidad! I have planned to ride from there over the Raton Mountain, then follow along the Cimarron River, through the Cimarron Canyon as far as Springer. At Springer we can take the train to Las Vegas. From there I plan to ride to the Pecos. So, you see, we’ve got to have horses at Trinidad, Tally.”

“Leaf him to me. Some way we get him fur you all,” promised Tally confidently. And so it was left.

Nothing of importance occurred during the trainride to Trinidad, though the wonderful scenery of Colorado caused constant “oh’s” and “ah’s,” or calls of “look at that” and “come here and see this” from the scouts.

Arriving at Trinidad with his party, Mr. Gilroy despatched Tally at once to hunt up suitable mounts and burros for the trail he had outlined. While the guide went upon this quest, the touring party sought for the desired elk-skin boots.

“Looks as if you’d have to wire to Denver for them,” suggested Mr. Vernon, as one shop after another was canvassed without success for the desired boots.

This shopping excursion was very interesting to the scouts; they would stop to admire or inspect the displays in the stores, or watch with curiosity any unusual sight on the streets. As all these diversions took time, it was several hours before Mr. Gilroy turned back to The Cardenas, the hotel where they had registered.

“As soon as we get there, I’ll have to get in a call on the long distance ’phone and order those boots from Denver,” Mr. Gilroy was saying to the girls, when Tally ran up to them.

“Say, Boss; me hope you no got shoes, eh?” exclaimed he, anxiously.

“No such luck, Tally. Why ask?” responded Mr. Gilroy.

“Me fin’ sure Indian what mak’ him fine! One Indian keep hoss-farm down Raton Mountain way, an’ he take me to house where fam’ly all mek’ fine shoe. Plenty elk-skin you fin’ dere. So me run back, mebbe you no buy in store, eh?”

“That’s good news, Tally. Lead on, and we’ll follow gladly,” declared Mr. Gilroy, with a relieved sigh.

“What about the horses, Tally,” said Mr. Vernon, as they started down the side street.

“Indian promees he fetch righda-way to Trin’dad. He hully off ’fore me all tru spick wid heem. Mebbe he not hear me want tree pack burros.”

“Well, let’s hope he can provide us with enough to give us each one horse,” added Joan.

“Otherwise we might have to leave Gilly and the Vernons behind,” laughed Julie.

“He say he got plenty fine mule. You no want hoss in Mex’co mountains. Onny sure-foot mule an’ burro,” explained Tally.

“Tally, when does this ‘righda-way’ mean,” asked Mrs. Vernon, smiling at the guide.

“Oh, he hully back to fahm what sit down Gray Mine road; ’en he tie rope along mule an’ hep ’em to Trin’dad,” explained Tally, earnestly.

“When—to-night, or to-morrow, Tally?” repeated Mr. Vernon.

“Mebbe, t’nighd; mebbe, t’mollow,” was Tally’s reply.

At one extreme end of the town the scouts found several Indian families living in small adobe houses. Each family had a patch of ground highly cultivated, and each made a living by basket-weaving, bead-embroidery, and moccasins. One family, the one Tally had found, made elk-skin boots. These were all sewed by hand and were the softest, most comfortable things possible to imagine. The sizes were not as true as they might have been had the pattern been cut in a shoe-factory, but they made up in style and ease that which they lacked in accurate measurement.

“Ah! I only hope the fellow has enough to fit each one of us with a pair of these,” whispered Mr. Gilroy in the Captain’s ear.

“I believe I’d buy two pair for myself, if there are any to spare,” said Mr. Vernon, after examining the quality.

“He mek moocha boot for shop in Santa Fé, an’ way back Denver,” was Tally’s interpretation of the old Indian’s speech.

“Ask him how many he’s got on hand, Tally,” said Mr. Gilroy.

Tally turned to the little family group that stood at one side of the low-ceiled room listening to and watching the Eastern people. When Tally asked them Mr. Gilroy’s question, the old man shoved one of the young squaws out of the room, at the same time jabbering some lingo to her. In a few minutes she returned dragging a heavy packing-case at her heels. In this box were more than a dozen pairs of boots of different sizes.

“Where shall we sit to try them on?” asked Mrs. Vernon, seeing there were no chairs in the hut.

“On the floor, where the host sits to work or entertain,” laughed Julie.

Meantime Tally had been busy with the foot-wear, and now handed out pairs of the boots that he thought would fit the various members in his party. Thus, in half an hour’s time, each one was provided with a pair of the boots. The men each took two pair, and then insisted that Tally select a pair for himself. He protested.

“But our guide is more important than our outfits. Keeping you comfortably shod is an asset for the season,” declared Mrs. Vernon.

Then the girls began to argue with him, till finally, holding aloft both hands in mimic surrender, Tally accepted the gift.

“Now, how much do we owe your new acquaintance, Tally?” asked Mr. Vernon, taking a roll of bills from his pocket.

Tally asked the Indian, but that salesman shook his head and replied in native speech.

“He say he not know onny whad he get f’om agent. Mebbe you not lak pay so mooch,” explained Tally.

“How much is that a pair?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

Tally interpreted again and told his employer the price.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy, in astonishment. “Tell him to trot out another case of these same boots, Tally. The scouts will each take two pair at that price, and we men will take three each.”

But Mr. Gilroy’s greed to buy out the stock at bargain prices was foiled. There were enough small sizes to supply the scouts each with two pairs, but no extra ones for the men.

Mr. Vernon gave the man an extra ten dollar bill for his honesty in the deal, and the old squaw immediately suggested something to Tally.

“She say you want plenty moccasins!”

“We haven’t any!” declared the Captain and the scouts in one breath.

“You’ll need them, on cold nights,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Yes, I know; but we were going to buy them in Denver,” explained Mrs. Vernon.

“Gude bis’niz you diden’,” chuckled Tally. “Now you buy fine moccasin fer same ten dollah money.”

The squaw ran away and in a short time returned with her skirt filled with exquisitely beaded pairs in all sizes.

“Too beautiful to wear in the wilderness,” sighed Julie, as she handled a pair with the toes a solid mass of bead-work.

When the “Whites” left that tiny home they left great wealth behind, for they had each added two pairs of moccasins, thick-skinned and simply made, to their outfits, and had purchased the elaborate ones to send home to those scouts who had not come west.

True to instinct, the Indian horse-trader came into Trinidad early the next morning, driving, coaxing, and kicking a string of sleek Mexican ponies. Then he sent word to the scout-party at the hotel that he was ready to bargain with the gentlemen.

“Tally, you’ve got to stand by us in this lottery, because we want to carry off the Grand Prize, you know,” laughed Mr. Vernon, when he heard the verbal message.

“He no get dead beat f’om my Boss—not if Tally know he’em,” vowed the guide, fervently. Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy laughed heartily at the Indian’s ambiguous remark, and Tally, not sure of that word “lottery,” or “Grand Prize,” laughed, too.

But the trader was not as tricky as his profession painted him. In fact, Tally managed to secure most excellent terms for his Boss. Mr. Gilroy contracted with the man for the nine ponies and three burros while in New Mexico or Arizona at the rate of $20-$30 each per month. This was more than the rental of the burros was worth, but the owner agreed to pay freight all the way from Gallup, which is in the western part of New Mexico, or from Flagstaff or Williams in Arizona, to reclaim his property. Should Mr. Gilroy decide to rent the animals for a fraction of a month thereafter he would only pay for the actual time he had the beasts in use.

“Well!” declared Mr. Vernon, when everything had been satisfactorily settled, and they were free to start from Trinidad whenever they pleased, “that is the first honest horse-dealer I ever met, or heard of.”

“He’em N’ Mex’co injun, da’s why,” said Tally.

“How about those of Arizona?” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

“Oh, he’em alla good. Navajo, Zuñi, Hopi—alle heer mos’ good,” explained Tally, conscientiously.

Mr. Vernon remembered an important item as the three men returned to the hotel where the scouts were eagerly waiting to hear the result of the horse-deal.

“The harness and saddle-bags for those mules and burros would have cost us more than we’re going to pay in rent,” said he to Mr. Gilroy.

“That’s what I figured when he named his price. We won’t need mounts nor harness once we are through the outing. Last summer we had to sell the horses and fittings for a song, when we got back to Estes Park. This business arrangement is better all-round for us, and relieves us of any concern when we are through with the animals.

“How about accidents to one of them?” asked Mr. Vernon.

“The trader knows little about insuring his ponies, but I shall do that before we leave Trinidad.”

Hence Mr. Gilroy sought out an insurance agent, and had him insure not only the ponies and the burros for three months against injury and death, but the harness, as well, was insured against loss and damage. These papers were sent to the Indian to keep in case he had to claim damages during the period of insurance.

That evening Tally reported that he and his stores were ready for an early morning start. The scouts had secured the various items they needed for the outing, and the two men said they were ready at any time. The night-clerk in the hotel was told to call the tourists at four the next morning, as they were eager to get away.

Tally had purchased the tents and camp equipment in Trinidad, and had the ponies saddled and waiting just outside the town proper; the three little burros, well-laden, looked more like ants carrying elephants than anything able to crawl up peaks and down perpendicular ravines. As before, when visiting the Rockies, the girls felt sorry for the little pack animals that appeared too slender and weak to stand any strain or fatigue. And, as before, Tally laughed at their misplaced sympathies.

Having had a hearty breakfast with which to start the day, the scouts were eager for the adventures before them. The horses had the regulation western saddles and the girls, wearing sensible clothing for riding—loose flannel shirts, knickerbockers, and high boots—rode cross-saddle.

Tally led off along the road that followed the railroad to Raton Mountain; Julie and Joan riding at each side of him while plying him with questions.

“Tally, do you know the names of our ponies and the burros?” asked Julie.

“Um-m-m, sure, Mees Jule,” was the guide’s reply, after a short hesitation.

“Tally! what does that ‘um-m-m’ mean?” demanded Julie, suspiciously.

“Oh, heem! dat mean me try rememmer alla dem names. Nine, ten, ’lefen, twelf names alla hard,” returned the Indian, innocent of face, but ready to burst out laughing.

“Tell me the name of mine, and of the three burros, and I won’t bother you about the others,” said Julie.

“Lem’me see!” began Tally, meditatively. Then he said:

“Oh, yess! me rememmer now. Dat pony you ride have white spot on face, so my fren’ name him White Star. Dat firs’ burro what carry tents, he call Slow Poke. Anudder what have cook-stove an’ deeshes he call Spark. Dat las’ burro is call Nuttin—short fer Good-fer-nuttin’, you see?”

Joan, watching Tally’s expression, tittered aloud now, and the guide turned to see if she suspected him of guile. She glanced away quickly and looked around over her shoulder at the cavalcade behind. When she could control her voice she spoke.

“And what do you call my pony, and your own, Tally?”

“You’se, Miss Jo, iss call Sweetie; an’ my mule iss name Stick. He’em ack lak’a block of wood, see?” explained Tally, endeavoring to assure Joan of the truth of his statements.

Both the girls laughed merrily.

“Then Jo’s pony must taste like sugar,” declared Julie, “though, goodness knows, I’ve heard that mule-steak is awful!”

“Um-m-m! So dey say,” agreed Tally.

At this moment Mr. Gilroy urged his pony forward to join the guide. Mr. Vernon had told him something he had heard from a man in Kansas City.

“Tally, do you know whether we can get a good view from the peak of Raton Mountain? Some one told Mr. Vernon it wasn’t worth the climb. I believed the Old Santa Fé Trail had been converted to a sky-line drive that runs along the crest of Raton Range for twenty-six miles.”

“Some on he’em man not know better. Mebbe he’em eyes not gude, eh?” chuckled Tally. “Fines’ view in west we get f’om Raton Crest.”

“If you say it’s worth while we’ll go on, because we’ve got all summer before us,” returned Mr. Gilroy.

They followed the Old Santa Fé Trail for hours, then, being hungry, they chose the camp-site for this their first meal out in the open that season. Julie stood and gazed at the imposing peaks before her.

“Well, Gilly, I really wouldn’t have known we were out of Colorado, or away from the peaks north of Estes Park. ‘They all look alike to me.’” Julie sang the last words to the rag-time song.

“You won’t say that when you go farther south in New Mexico or Arizona,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“It can’t be said that we are over the border of the state-line yet,” added Mr. Vernon. “I may be in New Mexico and you in Colorado. Perhaps that is why you can’t see the difference in the scenery.” Shortly after the amateur mountaineers had prepared to cook the dinner they saw, to their surprise, a Forest Ranger coming over the trail in the direction of their camp.

“Good-day, friends,” was the pleasant greeting from the tall young man in government uniform.

“Good-morning, sir,” responded Mr. Gilroy, acting as speaker for the group. “I trust we are not breaking the law by camping here?”

“Oh, no! I am on my way up the old trail, but I saw you selecting a site, and I thought I’d be neighborly and tell you where to hook a few good fish for dinner.”

“Now that’s mighty good of you! And in return for your favor maybe you’ll stop and sup with us,” was Mr. Gilroy’s hearty response.

“I’d like to right well, but I am taking a vacation which is granted me for the purpose of attending to an important investigation for the Government. It is no secret, therefore I have no hesitation in telling you that it concerns the future of our Pueblo Indians. I am to meet a man at Springer who wishes me to give him valuable information which I am fortunate to have from personal acquaintance with the different pueblos in New Mexico,” explained the young man frankly.

“How very interesting it would be to have your company with us on this ride to Springer, for that is the very place we plan to make before taking the train again,” said Mr. Vernon.

“Have you any idea of the distance, and the riding this trail will mean for the young ladies?” asked the Ranger in amazement.

“We became acquainted with such trails last summer in the Rockies,” replied Mr. Gilroy. Then he told the young man of all the trails the girl scouts had followed in his company and with Tally to guide them. He spoke of the grizzly which was shot, of the little bear cubs sent to the zoo in the east, of the canoe trips, and the other wonderful experiences they had shared in common, and when he had ended his story the Ranger smiled.

“I reckon you are immune from back-sliding when a night is dark, or when the sun blazes down on the trail,” said he.

“You have not yet said whether you will join our party,” said Mr. Vernon, who had taken a sudden fancy to the young fellow.

“You ought to know who I am first. I’m Tom Sanderson, a graduate in the class of engineering at the University of Albuquerque; I accepted the post of Forest Ranger for the summer, but I hope to start my real job in the Fall.”

“Where are you located on forest duty?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“I have been on the Cimarron Range for a time, now I am to attend to this Pueblo business, and then go up to Panchuelo and supervise the Rangers there who will have to construct a few bridges,” explained the Ranger.

“That’s where we’re bound for. We shall follow this trail over the mountain and go down through the Cimarron Valley as far as Springer, then we had expected to take the train to Las Vegas, and from there go up the Pecos Valley to the mountains,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“As long as we are going the same way it would be pleasant to have you join us,” said Mr. Vernon.

The young Ranger glanced curiously at Mrs. Vernon and the four good-looking girls with her, so Mr. Gilroy introduced himself and his friends in a general way.

“Well, I don’t suppose any one will take me to account for my time if I should decide to linger along the way with you,” remarked the Ranger. As he spoke he led his horse over to the group of horses which had been tethered under the trees. When he came back to the impromptu camp, he said: “If you’re ready, Mr. Gilroy, I’ll show where the trout are as thick as flies on molasses.”

“Just a moment, Ranger, till I get my rods and flies,” said Mr. Gilroy, running to get the tackle.

Mr. Vernon accompanied the two, and soon the three were out of sight in the forest.

“How do you like the portable cook-stove, Tally?” asked Mrs. Vernon, walking over to the guide, who was cooking.

“Personally, Verny, I think it will prove a great accelerator of mealtime,” said Julie laughingly; “but Tally vows he has no use for new-fangled ways of roughing it.”

Joan added: “Tally’s like the man who swore he’d never pay the bills for having modern plumbing installed in his home, after his wife had ordered it; yet he monopolized the bath-tub every morning to the inconvenience of his family; and he had his meals served on a tray as he sat right over the register of hot air in the dining-room; the others ate at the table and shivered.”

“Looks as if he had been swearing at the cost,” chuckled Hester.

“But that isn’t Tally’s case,” retorted Mrs. Vernon. “The burro pays the price of having a stove in camp; all we do is to unload it and give it plenty of wood to burn.”

Presently the three men returned with a splendid catch of trout which they brought over to the Indian to prepare for the lunch. Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon seemed to have become well acquainted with the Ranger during their little fishing excursion; and during the luncheon the girl scouts also came under the spell woven by this interesting young man’s personality.

There were many a merry laugh and jest during the time the dishes were being washed and all signs of the midday meal removed; then the Ranger and Tally destroyed every vestige of the camp fire, before the entire party climbed into their saddles and rode away from the camping spot.

“How glorious is life up here,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, inhaling a deep breath.

“I should say so!” agreed Mr. Vernon, fervently.

“No wonder you Forest Rangers are such fine chaps. Who could be sickly or small when living on heights so near to God,” declared Mr. Gilroy, and Sanderson flushed at such praise.

As they began to climb to the crest of Raton, the birds were flashing back and forth overhead, industriously seeking dinner for their young. The fragrant verdure, the slanting sunbeams as they seemed to search through the crannies of cliffs and chasms, the sudden flash of a wild thing scuttling away from the trail, all served to exhilarate the riders.

“This is a mighty good trail,” remarked Mr. Vernon.

“This is the best and greatest trail known,” remarked the Ranger. “Wait till we gain the crest— I’ll say no more.”

“Mr. Sanderson, we heard last summer that a trail once made by human feet will forever keep its peculiarity so that it never becomes completely overgrown again. On the other hand, it is said that the trails worn by forest creatures will, after being abandoned, become obliterated by growth of young trees and brush,” said Julie.

“That’s what people say, but I can hardly believe it,” returned Sanderson. “If you were a Forest Ranger and had to build the roads we do, you would forget all about these other kind of trails. We Rangers have to clear away all obstructions in making a trail, and build the road in such a way that it will be permanent. Then we have to see that these trails are kept clear of rubbish and undergrowth.”

They came to a belt of forest where the light seemed to take on a greenish tinge from the thick, interlaced branches overhead. After riding through this for a time, the sound of rushing, falling waters could be heard.

“Let’s find it!” exclaimed Julie, eagerly.

“It must be a high fall to make such a noise,” added Betty.

“Tally, you scout for the torrent and, should it be accessible, we will follow and get a snapshot of it,” advised Mrs. Vernon. Then Sanderson spoke.

“You’ll find the falls over there, a short half-mile from here; but you’d better leave the burros out here; the undergrowth is too much for them. Tally can tether them back there in the bushes. While you go to the falls, I’ll do a little hunting in these woods for supper.”

“All right, Ranger, that’s a good plan; we’ll all meet you here in half-hour, eh?” agreed Mr. Gilroy, nodding at the Indian to do as Sanderson had advised.

With a friendly assent the Ranger rode away, and the others in the party watched his graceful form disappear behind the trees; then they turned to ride to the falls. Suddenly Julie turned to Hester and said: “Say! what did we do with the camera?”

“Captain remembered it, but you didn’t,” laughed she, nodding her head accusingly at the scout leader.

“My! I felt my heart sink in my shoes then,” sighed Julie, with a melodramatic roll of her eyes.

“You’re lucky to have such soft elk-skin foot-gear to catch your heart when it falls,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, teasingly.

The sound of the mountain stream which had called the girls to seek the falls mellowed to a distinct splashing as they drew nearer the ledge where the Guide had preceded them. When they reached the place where Tally stood, his horse’s bridle over one arm, the tourists gazed with astonishment at the scene of wild beauty.

The water, a small insignificant bit of water had it been running on the plains, was transformed into a veritable fairy’s veil of white spray, because of the height from which it fell. The group stood upon a crag which projected over a ravine and gazed up at the misty cascade which began its descent about fifty feet higher than the ledge where they were. It fell sheer down to a rocky basin twenty feet below the ledge, and thence it fell again to another depth of about fifty feet before it resumed its rushing career on down to the base of the mountain.

“Hesty, focus the kodak carefully in order to get the entire falls in the picture,” advised Julie.

“Now, Jo, how is that possible?” exclaimed Hester. “The lens would have to be automatic and stretch way up, then down, to cover that two hundred foot fall.”

“I never heard of such an adjustment to a camera, Hessie. Where do they have them on sale?” remarked Mr. Gilroy.

Hester laughed. “I don’t know, Gilly, because no one ever patented that idea, that I know of. I was merely telling Julie that the stunt of stretching the lens was impossible.”

“You ought to know what I meant, Hester,” added Julie. “I meant for you to get the scenery across the ravine, to bring out the effect of the falling water against that green background.”

While every one had a different suggestion to make to Hester, how she ought to take the picture, the scout turned a deaf ear, but kept her eyes on the work in hand. Hence the snapshot proved to be all right. After taking a few more pictures, the scouts were about to return to the trail where the burros had been left, when Julie begged: “Oh, wait! Let Hester take one more snap, Verny.”

The others stopped and turned, and Julie caught hold of Hester’s arm. “Come over here, Hessie, and wait till I say ‘ready!’ I’m going to be in this picture, all right, because I want to develop it and mail it home.”

As she was speaking Julie led Hester to a spot and showed her just what she was to do after she, Julie, was posed and ready.

“That beautiful hanging tree all draped with creepers, see it—right on the verge of the cliff? I’ll lean against it gracefully, as if I was leaning over to look down into the chasm, and then you push the button. You’ll get the falls as a background, and everything.”

Hester understood perfectly, so Julie rushed over to the crooked, leaning pine, half-dead, but draped as the scout had said, with long swinging tendrils of vines.

“Isn’t this going to be a thriller of a picture, Verny?” called Julie, waving a hand at the wide canyon and the shimmering falls.

“For goodness’ sake, Julie! don’t go so close to the edge,” warned Joan. But she was too late.

In turning to address the Captain, Julie had inadvertently stepped back one pace too far. With the wave of her hand at the ravine she lost her balance. In a panic she flung out both hands to clutch at the nearest hold. They grasped the swaying vines which immediately tore away from their frail hold, and in a second’s time Julie was gone.

Every one stood momentarily transfixed with horror. The next second, however, the girls were screaming, Betty was wringing her hands, and the Captain flung herself at her husband, beseeching him to save Julie!

Hester still held the camera exactly as she had while waiting for the signal to snap the picture. She seemed utterly bereft of her senses, because she was turning the key that rolls the film, and she kept on turning it in her brain-shock until the entire roll of twelve exposures was used up. Tally was the only one who seemed to have any presence of mind.

“Boss, run get rope from packs! Me climb down canyon an’ help Mees Jule.”

“Tally, I must go with you to help,” called Mr. Gilroy, in opposition to the guide’s command; “let Mr. Vernon get the rope!”

The two men ran to the edge of the cliff where the crooked tree still leaned far out over the chasm, but Tally sought and found a place where he could get a clear unobstructed view of the side of the canyon directly under the jutting tree. And there he saw a sight that caused him to scream hysterically, “Julesafed! Julesafed!”

This announcement acted like an electric current on the others. With one impulse the scouts made a dash for the place where Tally stood, but Mr. Gilroy barred the way.

“Not much! You-all get back and leave us men do this,” shouted he, sternly.

Obedient as children caught in mischief, they all fell back without a thought of doing otherwise. Their minds were intent on every least thing in this emergency, but the suspense was racking to the nerves.

“Get rope, Mees’s Vern’, tie ’roun’ beeg tree. I go down furder an’ get Mees Jule. She on ledge right unner dat tree. She not move, so she mus’ faint,” explained Tally, as he rushed past Mr. Gilroy and ran downward from the place where the others remained.

The moment Tally had vanished in the heavy undergrowth and trees, Mr. Gilroy leaped over to the point where the guide had had his view. Then he called and explained to the anxious group of scouts.

“There’s a projecting ledge under the edge of the top of the cliff, but it is not visible from where we were standing. It is only a few feet beneath the top, and Julie can’t be hurt by the fall. She has fainted through fright, I’m sure.”

His words brought back the color to blanched faces, and hope to stricken hearts. Now he called to them again.

“There goes Tally! He has found a way of reaching the ledge, so it can’t be a hazard to bring her up. I’ll go the way he went and help.” As he spoke he started for the slope down which the Indian had disappeared, but Mrs. Vernon ran over to him with a small vial in her hand.

“Here, Gilly—ammonia! I had it in the small knapsack on my belt,” cried she, breathlessly, dragging at him.

He took it and hurried away. In a very short time Mr. Vernon returned to his friends with a blank look upon his face, but the dire news he had intended to impart to them was driven dean from his mind when he heard of the possible recovery of Julie.

“Oh, Uncle Verny, Julie’s all right now !” Joan assured him.

“Yes, yes, Verny! Gilly says she only fainted. He’s gone to help Tally carry her back here,” explained Hester, eagerly. Betty was still weeping nervously.

At such information Mr. Vernon could not control himself, but he ran over to the outlook point whence the Indian had spied the fallen scout upon the ledge. He saw the Guide about to pick up the unconscious girl. In another moment Tally had her upon his back as a trained first aid would; then, carefully, he picked his way along the narrow shelf of mossy rock till he reached the place where it ran into the slope. Here Mr. Gilroy was waiting with the aromatic ammonia. The next thing Mr. Vernon saw was Julie kicking violently and struggling with the strong pungent fumes of the ammonia.

“She’s all right! Julie’s come to again!” shouted Mr. Vernon to the anxious group waiting to hear from him. “Get some water, some one, and have a glass of water ready to dash in her face, in case she feels faint again!” But he remained where he was till the last signs of the three on the slope of the chasm had vanished.

At his order, the scouts ran here and there in vain, then said: “Where can we find any water, Verny, other than over the falls?”

“Let Unk Verny go get the water if he thinks it is so easy a matter,” replied Mrs. Vernon, testily, dropping upon the grass and using her sleeve to dry the beads of anxiety from her brow.

Joan laughed hysterically as she added: “We’ll tell him to use the old oaken bucket that hangs in the well! It’s so convenient to our hand just here.” Her laugh broke the tension and every scout present laughed uproariously, then felt better.

By this time the two rescuers came in sight, helping Julie to use her shaky limbs. Then Mr. Gilroy called out to his friends:

“Jule’s all right again. She argued to be allowed to walk, so that shows she is O. K.!”

“Of course, I’m all right! I did that very stunt just to get a good snapshot of myself going over the edge, and I suppose Hester got so frightened that she forgot to snap the picture,” said Julie, as she allowed her helpers to seat her upon the moss.

“Oh, Julie, dear! Did you really! How you frightened me!” wailed Betty, with the suggestion of a complaint in her tones.

Every one laughed at gullible little Betty, and Julie said, “Yes, of course I did! If only that picture turns out well!”

Hester had forgotten all about the camera, but being reminded of it she ran over to pick it up. As she did so she looked at the register to see how many exposures had been used, and as she did this she gasped.

“Jule! I really believe I did take that stunt! Any way, I must have turned the key, again and again, until not one single film remains to be exposed. I’ve reached the end of the reel!”

The laugh that greeted this information acted like a tonic on Julie’s shaken nerves, and in a little while she felt able to get up and walk to her horse.

“Think you are strong enough to resume the ride up-trail, dearie?” asked Mrs. Vernon, solicitously.

“Oh, sure! Strong as a mountain lion,” laughed Julie, as she tried to jump into the saddle. Then she found she had better wait and receive assistance. But once she was securely seated upon her horse, she felt her old self again, and needed no further sympathy for her dramatic scene at the cliff.

They rode out from the tangled wilderness to the trail, but no Ranger had arrived. The burros were brought from the nook where they had been hidden, and everything was in order for a new start, yet no young man appeared on the scene.

“Great Scott! We can’t sit here all day waiting for a youngster who may not show up before midnight,” grumbled Mr. Gilroy.

“Suppose we leave a note somewhere where the Ranger will be sure to see it, and then we can ride on,” suggested Julie.

“Yes, Gilly. You know how long it takes these burros to cover the ground,” added Joan.

“Oh, very well! But I thought you young ladies would prefer to wait for such a handsome young chap who is so entertaining,” agreed Mr. Gilroy.

“Gilly, have you ever heard one of us complaining about your age,” asked Betty in such an earnest manner that every one had to double over in laughter. But Betty had meant what she said and she could not understand why they should laugh at her.

In a few more minutes the cavalcade started on the trail, and the note telling the Ranger where to find them had been left upon a stick which was stuck in a prominent place on the road.

The scout party rode on and on along the Sky-line Trail, stopping frequently to gaze at the wonderful views to be had from this altitude. Reaching the place where another important trail crossed, Tally, for the second time in his experience as a Guide, decided upon the wrong trail as being the one to follow to reach Springer. But he was justified inasmuch as the trail he chose was the better one of the two from that point on. They had gone a long distance before any one questioned whether this could be the Old Santa Fé Trail. As no one could tell they kept on going, often turning their heads to see if Ranger Sanderson was in sight. At last the sun was setting and they must locate a camp-site for the night; then it was decided that, as long as Sanderson had had all afternoon in which to overtake them, but had not taken advantage of the time, they would decide upon the first best spot where spring water was to be found.

Not long afterward Tally’s keen eyesight detected an attractive pine-grove a short distance off the trail where he declared they would find water. How he knew this to be so was a wonder to the girls. But that is the way with these Indian Guides!

Sure enough! in riding to the grove the scouts saw the reflection of sunbeams sparkling on a body of water. Then as they entered the woods the lake was lost to view. They rode on a short distance farther and, suddenly emerging from the girdle of trees, they spied a small lake of about a mile in length.

“Goot camp, eh, Boss?” said Tally, nodding at the sheet of water.

“Yes, Tally, and we’re ready for supper,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“All right, Boss, but we no camp here,” returned Tally. At the point where the Guide had discovered the lake, reeds and grasses hugged the shore, and from the quiet water a faint mist upcurled like a transparent veil. Gradually this veil spread until silently it enveloped everything along the edge of the water.

Tally now led the way along a faint wild trail that skirted the lake, and soon, the scouts came to a rippling stream which the horses had to ford. The scene was splendidly wild, and isolation hung like a curtain over everything. Mystic sounds chirruped at them as their horses went clipclopping over the hardened trail; finally they rode out to an open place which was enchanting in its beauty. The fast-fading reflections of the setting sun, purple and rose, which shimmered upon the bosom of the water touched this mist into a rosy aura.

“Here we mek camp,” announced Tally, reining in his horse.

The rest of the party dismounted and preparations were instantly begun for a night camp.

“Who will go for the fish?” asked the Captain.

“Oh, Gilly! do let some of us girls go with you!” cried Joan.

“That will have to be as the Captain says,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

“Two of you girls can go with Gilly, and two must remain here to assist me in making the beds,” said the Captain.

“I don’t want to fish,” said Betty; “I can’t bear to see the poor little things wriggle on the hook.”

“But you can bear to eat them when somebody else hooks them,” laughed Julie.

“Mees Betty, you no forget how to mek hemlock bed, eh?” asked Tally, as he arranged the cook-stove upon which to prepare dinner.

“Indeed I have not! Let the other girls go and fish, Tally, and I will show you how I can weave the tips as well as ever I did,” bragged Betty.

“I shall remain with Betty to cut the hemlock branches, while she makes the beds,” said Hester.

“Um-ra-m! me show you-all goot place for sleep,” hinted Tally; as he spoke he pointed to a sheltered nook made by a huge rock on one side, and a thick undergrowth of bushes and aspens on the other two sides; the fourth side was the approach from the clearing.

“Not far over dere you fin’ alla beddin’ you-all need,” explained the Indian, waving a hand at a clump of fine hemlocks.

Meanwhile Julie and Joan had gone with the two men to find a suitable place from which to fish. The sun had gone down, and the lake had changed from a warm rose hue to a chill gray. The silence which could be felt was broken only by the pulsating sounds from the woods. As they sought along the lake edge for a good place to stand, quite unexpectedly, from a tree directly overhead, a loon shrilled a warning to her mate across the lake. But the mate sent back his wild laughter at the unbased fears entertained by his wife. As the scouts moved slowly along, feeling as if they were one with the wild creatures of this spot, they almost forgot they were sent to fish for their supper.

But in a short time they had caught a goodly mess of fish and returned to camp. As the first day’s long ride had wearied them, no one wished to stir after supper, and Mr. Gilroy merely said: “Tally, are the horses all right for the night?”

“Sure! Tally fix hosses first,” returned the Guide.

Every one was soon asleep that night, and Tally knew not how long he had been sleeping when he suddenly sat up. He thought he heard one of the horses whinny, but all was quiet, so he stretched out again. Just before he dozed off, however, he wondered if, by any chance, a wild beast could sneak up and attack them. This thought caused him to dream fitfully and he started up again to satisfy his mind regarding the animals. Looking at his Ingersoll he found it was one o’clock in the morning.

Tally got up and found the ponies quiet and safe; but, to his great surprise, he heard a horse’s hoofs on the river trail. Hastily he climbed up on a high bowlder and from there he could glimpse the river sparkling in the last rays of the fading moon.

As he stood watching and listening for new revelations from the trail, he thought he saw the flash of a pocket searchlight. The whole discovery seemed so out of the ordinary to the Indian that he decided to creep along the faint lake-trail made by wild animals and reach the river-trail before the rider passed the spot where the two trails met. It was not mere curiosity which induced Tally to do this, but the inborn wariness of the Guide who feels he is responsible for his party.

He was none too soon, for, immediately after he had secreted himself and his horse back of some trees and brush, the steady gleaming of an electric light reflected on the trail along which a horse was heard approaching. Tally placed his coat over his own horse’s head to keep him from calling to his comrade on the trail.

When the stranger’s horse reached the place where the two trails joined, it stopped, turned its head in the direction of the lake and whistled softly. In a moment the reply from one of the ponies hobbled at the lake reached Tally’s ears. He swore under his breath at this unexpected incident, then he had a further surprise.

“Ah, good old Snubby! You’ve told me where to find them,” spoke a young man’s voice, sounding familiar to the Guide.

“Dat’s Range San’son!” was Tally’s thought, as he hastily caught the bridle of his horse’s head and led him out to confront the newcomer.

“Halt!” commanded the Ranger, flashing his light over in the direction of the unexpected horse and rider.

“Is’s onny Tally, Mees’r San’son,” called the Guide.

“Tally! Good for you, old man! Now you can take me to the camp,” replied Sanderson, eagerly.

“Whad wrong, Mees’r San’son, mek you not ride with scouts?” asked the Indian.

“Why, Tally, you took the wrong trail, and I rode all the way down the old Santa Fé Trail only to discover that you had not gone that way. Then I rode all the way back to the Forks and discovered the tracks your horses made down the Cimarron Trail.”

“Mees’r San’son, you say I go wrong way?” gasped Tally, dubiously.

“Yes, Tally; but in the long run it will prove to be the pleasanter route, because the scouts can trail along the Red River which crosses this road a little farther on, and go almost as far as Springer before leaving it to travel on the more public road.”

“Now we ride to camp and sleep, eh?” suggested the Indian.

“I’ll be glad to get myself a cup of coffee, as I did not stop to eat or drink,” remarked the Ranger, turning his horse’s head to follow the Guide.

“Yeh—too bad!” said Tally, but the night hid his face as he spoke. If it had not the Ranger might have felt slightly embarrassed at the quizzical expression in the eyes of the Guide.

The two horses, with their riders, clip-clopped along the trail to the lake and reached camp, where Tally started to brew the coffee, while Sanderson led the animals over to corral them with the others.

While enjoying the coffee, the two men whispered of the joys of mountain trailing: Tally, of his unexpected good fortune in finding such a splendid company to guide that summer; and Sanderson in having found such a splendid company with which he could travel. Finally the embers of the fire were covered, and both men then stretched out upon the grass to sleep.

Because of Sanderson’s night ride, and because of Tally’s interrupted sleep, both men slept heavily and never awoke when the scouts began to move around. Mrs. Vernon and the girls, without a glance in the direction of the camp fire, ran to the lake and, donning bathing suits, took an early morning swim. The water was cold as ice, and a plunge was more than enough to satisfy every one in the party. Consequently, shivering and with teeth chattering, they rushed back to the small dressing-tent to have a brisk rub-down in order to start circulation again.

In a short time they were dressed. Mrs. Vernon, who was buckling her ridingboots, called after the girls to advise them.

“Betty, you rouse Gilly and Uncle, will you? And Hester, you help Tally with breakfast, while Julie and Jo go catch a mess of fish.”

The girls ran away to do as their Captain had instructed. But Tally had anticipated the call, and was already up when Hester came to arouse him. He turned to her as he was fumbling with the campstove, which was belching smoke from its little pipe, and said: “Somebuddy go ketch trout for brekfas’?”

“Yes, Tally, the girls are going, I think,” answered Hester.

The girls helped Tally with the breakfast.

“Tally, did you try the temperature of the stream just below camp?” called Mr. Vernon, curling up under his blanket in the chill of the early morning air.

“Shore! he’em fine an’ warm, Boss,” laughed the Guide.

“All right, then! turn on the faucet and I’ll use my luxurious tiled bath very shortly,” replied Mr. Vernon.

“He’s right, Tally,” retorted Mr. Gilroy, poking his head out from under his blankets; “his bath will be short—on this frosty morn.”

“Both you lazy men ought to be ashamed to have five scouts up and dressed before you even dream of ordering your daily bath,” called Mrs. Vernon from the tent which had been turned into a ladies’ dressing-room.

“How can we get up, when we have no valet or dressing-room?” replied Mr. Vernon.

“We are going to fish now, so you men can have the use of our tent while we are landing the trout,” said Julie, going over to the place where the fishing tackle had been left by Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy the night before.

As a clump of trees and bushes intervened between the sleeping quarters for the scouts and the camp fire, Julie was unaware of a visitor until she, calling to the Guide, rushed around the screen foliage.

“Tally! I want to borrow your fish-pole! Where is it?”

Sanderson sat bolt upright at the girlish voice. He was accustomed to sudden and unexpected calls during his sleep, hence he was trained to rouse quickly.

“Oh!” gasped Julie, surprised at finding the young Ranger there. “Oh, where did you come from?”

“Good-morning. Miss Julie,” returned he, scrambling to his feet, and hastily trying to smooth his disheveled hair.

“Me fin’ Mees’r San’son losted las’ night,” said Tally, explaining the presence of the disconcerted visitor. “He come alla way down, to fin’ us an’ hees hoss call for help. Poor Ranger! He ride alla night to ketch us up.”

Then Sanderson added his explanations to those of the Indian and by the time he had concluded he had regained his composure.

“Well, this isn’t catching fish for breakfast,” returned Julie, laughingly. “I came for Tally’s rod, and now I find I have another mouth to fill.”

Tally went over to fetch his rod, but he smiled to himself as he muttered a contradiction to Julie’s words: “Ye’es, this iss catching fish! You hook one great beeg fish, Mees Jule, what you not eat for brekfas’.”

“What did you say, Tally?” demanded Julie. “I heard you say something about not eating fish for breakfast, but you shall, if I know it!”

Tally chuckled as he handed her the pole and tackle. And the girl sped away to join Joan, who was on her way to the water.

Mr. Gilroy had heard a stranger’s voice in conversation with Julie and now he appeared at the camp fire. “Well, for goodness’ sake!” exclaimed he, when he saw who the stranger was.

Sanderson laughed and flushed, as if all the world must know the true reason for his being there. He explained about the wrong trail and then described the attractions of the Red River trail.

“Why, that’s great! We’ll all go this way if you have the time to trail with us,” was Mr. Gilroy’s hearty endorsement.

Joan and Julie seemed to have bad luck with the fish that morning, but the truth of the matter was that Julie could not keep quiet. She was too full of merry gossip about the good-looking Ranger who had appeared so unexpectedly in camp.

“You know, Jo, he kept looking at me all the time he explained, till even Tally could see what was doing!” giggled Julie, casting for a trout in a spot that looked promising.

“He is so tall and handsome, Julie, that I am almost jealous of you,” declared Joan, her interest entirely engaged by the hope of an imminent romance instead of the duty of fishing for the present need.

“He certainly seems to be all eyes for me, doesn’t he?” was Julie’s laughing reply. “I am not quite at ease when he is around, Jo. Now, Phil Morton, the associate editor on our home paper—you know, the one who thought I was just cut out for a journalist—showed very plainly how much he liked me, but he wasn’t forever staring at me and afraid to speak.”

Joan tittered. “Give Sandy time, Jule; we only met him yesterday, remember. Most of our afternoon up on Raton passed while the Ranger was away hunting for food. He only had a few short opportunities in which to take note of your charms.”

“Oh, stop your nonsense!” retorted Julie, whipping the trout-line back and forth in the water.

“Look out! Oh, Julie—see there, now!” cried Joan, impatiently, as both lines and hooks became entangled.

Julie laughed as she hauled in the lines and started to undo the snarl.

“Isn’t this just like love? One minute you’re all right and never dreaming of a tangle; along comes a fine young Ranger and, pronto! the tackle jumps around and there you are!”

The two lines were separated as she ended her sermonette; then Joan said: “Come on back. We can’t fish this morning, while we know Hesty and Betty have Sanderson all to themselves. Here we are missing all the fun and they’re right in it”

Without demur, Julie followed after her chum, and soon they appeared in camp. “No fish this morning,” declared Julie, as she placed Tally’s rod against a tree.

“Oh, girls! did you really try?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“I should say we did! Why, I almost wore out the line while working it,” declared Julie, positively.

The men stood and gazed at the lake in amazement. Mr. Vernon then said: “I could swear the lake was full of fish, Gilly.”

“Come on, Sanderson, let’s you and I go try our luck,” responded Mr. Gilroy. “It will only delay breakfast for a short time.”

So, without another word the two men took the discarded rods and walked away, while Julie and Joan stood and watched them go, disapproval plainly expressed on their faces. Tally gave them a look, comprehending the situation, and smiled to himself as he bent over the fire to turn the bread-twist.

“Come, girls, let’s pack the duffle-bags and take down the tent while we’re waiting for breakfast,” suggested Mrs. Vernon, seeing the two returned fishers had nothing to do.

It was not long before the fishermen were seen coming back, displaying several fat trophies of trout which had been caught in that short length of time.

“It doesn’t seem like fishing, Verny, where so many trout are simply waiting for the hook. If one had a net, they could scoop them up—they’re that thick,” declared Mr. Gilroy.

“That’s the kind of fishing I like,” laughed the Captain. “Where the fish swim up to you and quarrel with each other as to which shall be the first to hook itself.”

Young Sanderson helped serve the breakfast, but most of his attention was given to Julie’s words and actions. In fact, so apparent was the good-looking young Ranger’s attraction to the vivacious girl that Mr. Vernon chuckled as he nudged Mr. Gilroy in the ribs.

“Julie’s made a conquest, all right. I fear we’ll have to take the Ranger along as an extra guide, because he’ll refuse to be left behind,” whispered Mr. Gilroy.

Breakfast over, the Captain said: “Gilly, are we going down the Cimarron trail, or are you thinking of changing our plans?”

“Why, we’ll go on just as Sandy directs, when you’re ready and say the word,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

Thus they were trailing again by nine o’clock, Ranger Sanderson all smiles and gayety, riding beside Julie. She, the little minx, enjoyed his attentions and tantalized him with her mischievous eyes. Now and then Mr. Gilroy would rein in his horse in order to ride abreast with these laggards. At such times he tried valiantly to signal Julie that she must not flirt so heartlessly with the poor chap, but the laughing girl would give him a whimsical look in return.

The trail was excellent and no adverse conditions arose to impede or delay the progress of the scouts along the way. The Ranger proved to be a valuable addition to the party, as he knew most of the ranches near the trail, and was well versed with legends and stories of every point of interest to be seen as they rode through this mecca in adventurous times of the past.

It was Sanderson who made the Old Trail seem to pulse once more with the life of other days, in which the stage-coach and the great caravans coming from Kansas City and Denver to Santa Fé had to travel by this great Sky-line. The girls saw the Indians and the outlaws of those pioneer days, as they attacked the whites, or raided a traders’ caravan. But it was through the Ranger’s eyes of the imagination that they saw these vivid pictures.

He pointed out the El Capulin volcano, which was a short ride from Raton City, but not to be included in the sight-seeing now. He tried to induce the tourists to ride to Taos by the ancient trail that ran direct from Raton, but the scouts preferred to go to the Pecos ruins and cañon first, then up to the pueblo of Taos later. It was Sanderson who, from the crest of Raton, pointed out the wonderful view of the Spanish Peaks, the Taos Range and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He directed their gaze to Fisher’s Peak and told how it had been named for the officer in the Army of the West; how Simpson’s Rest was a monument of nature’s work in honor of the old pioneer who was buried on its summit. He pointed to the great bluffs across the Las Animas River where, in 1866, the Ute Indians fought the settlers. Then he told them how the river came to have its name. Sanderson spoke Spanish fluently and he interpreted the meaning of the old name into English for the girls: “River of Lost Souls”—in memory of the Spaniards who in the eighteenth century lost their lives in the crossing of the river.

It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that the scouts were intensely thankful that they had met such a delightful young man to trail with them, and they each and every one hoped that no untoward act from any source whatever could ruin this splendid opportunity to enjoy his company.

Not one of the girls felt jealous of Julie and the “lion’s share” of attention which Sanderson paid her, but every girl in the group tried to show the Ranger that she, too, was alive and eager to have his smiles and expressive glances, when he found it possible to take them from Julie and share them meagerly with others.

While Sandy enjoyed Julie’s companionship, he remembered the Government had first claim on his time. His duty was to interpret for and to guide the man he was to meet at Springer or Las Vegas, and secure such statistics as would be valuable for the righting of the wrong done the Pueblo Indians; consequently, he felt that he had no right to pay attention to a pretty girl, while his work remained unfinished.

Thus the entire scout-party rode into Springer, as the newspapers would say, “without any casualties,” either to soul or body; but there lurked a germ of love in Sanderson’s heart, for which no vaccine has yet been discovered.

Having arrived in Springer the scout-party were amazed to find it such a small place. They had pictured it to be as important a city as Raton, with buildings as fine and good hotel accommodations. Now they learned that it was limited to little more than a thousand in population, and that it paid more attention to its export of flour and fruits to consumers in all parts of the country than to consumers of the cooked products who were at their “doors” needing food and shelter. At least, so Julie described the hungry condition of their party and the reception awarded them at the hotel.

“Good gracious! Jule, one would think you had never been on a camping trip before,” was Betty’s rebuke, when her sister complained of minor matters in connection with the hotel.

Another disappointing incident was that Mr. Burt, the man Sanderson expected to meet in Springer, failed to appear there, but a wire was handed the Ranger instead.

“Well! he says that he’s waiting for me at the Castañeda Hotel in Las Vegas, where he has been detained because of business,” explained the Ranger to the men in the scout party. “But I’m inclined to think that Burt had little desire to stop over at a small place with so little to interest a visitor. Las Vegas will amuse him to his heart’s content.”

“What will you do now?” asked Mr. Vernon.

“Go on with you to-morrow, just as we had planned. I came here as directed, and Burt is not here. Now he must wait for me.”

The girls exchanged approving looks with each other, because they admired a man who had enough respect for himself to demand that others respect him also, by deeds as well as by words.

“I have a plan to propose which you may think a wise one, but you may think I am too forward for suggesting it,” said the Ranger at supper that night.

“Out with it, Sandy!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy. “We’ll not consider you forward in anything, but being guilty of making all the scouts fall in love with you. I know that is so, because not one of them has deigned to send me a smile—they are all saved for you, you rascal.”

The scouts laughed merrily, but Sanderson, in confusion, blushed like a girl accused of her first love-affair. To cover his embarrassment, the young man said: “If you send Tally with the burros by freight in the morning, we can ride to Las Vegas in half the time. Then we can meet him there and plan later.”

“That’s a fine idea, Sandy! How far is it from Springer?” returned Mr. Vernon.

“It’s a jaunt of about seventy miles, but we can stop at Wagon Mound, which is almost half-way to Las Vegas, you know.”

“And should we feel tired of riding we can go on to Las Vegas by train, can’t we?” added Mrs. Vernon, thinking of her girls, and this unusually long ride in the saddle.

Thus it was decided, and Tally was so informed after the tourists left the dining-room. He agreed without demur, but he showed his disappointment at being shipped on a train when he had looked forward to trailing all the way to the Grand Cañon without an up-to-date train doing its part in the trip.

In the morning, therefore, Tally had gone, but not to the train, when the scouts came downstairs. It was learned that he could not leave Springer till after eleven that morning, so he had decided to do a little sight-seeing without escorting his party.

“That’s the way he has of telling us he disapproves of our decision of sending him with the burros,” said the Captain, a note of sympathy in her tone.

“We’re sorry as he is, Verny, but what can we do? Ship the slow little pests on the train without a guard?” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Tally must see that we cannot do otherwise,” added Sandy.

“Thar’s none so blind as them that won’t see,” quoth Julie, nodding her head sagely.

Of course Sandy turned his head quickly and smiled fatuously, but she tossed her curly head and grinned back.

The trail that day led the scouts past the State Reformatory which is at Springer, then on southward to Colmor. They had an excellent view of the peaks of the Cimarron Mountains, of which Old Baldy is the highest. At Colmor they saw the Lake Charetts irrigation reservoir from a distance, but had no inclination to ride nearer to inspect the huge project.

They stopped at a wayside ranch and had the midday meal, then rode on until Wagon Mound was reached in the late afternoon. Here they stopped for the night and resumed the trail in the morning.

From Wagon Mound the trail ran through beautiful hills and valleys, passing through Optimo, a small farming settlement, and then to Valmora, where a large Sanatorium for tuberculosis is located. At Watrous the junction of the Mora and Sapello rivers supply water for many industries and also give the country around ample moisture to grow such verdure as other sections lack. The Ranger considered the pueblo ruins near the town worthy of a visit, and also the ruins of Fort Barkley near by. After visiting the Shoemaker (Mora) Canyon the scouts continued on to Las Vegas.

It had been a long ride that day, and they were thankful to find a hotel where every convenience as well as luxury was to be had. They lost no time in going to their rooms at the Castañeda and enjoying the delight of warm baths. It was rather late for dinner when they all met again in the dining-room, hence the usual crowds had dined, and that left the place more private.

Sandy, as he had come to be called by the scouts, was not to be seen when Mr. Gilroy led his friends to dinner, but later he hurried in and excused himself for being tardy.

“I saw Tally and learned that he has stabled his burros in a good place, so I let him take our mounts there as well. Then I sent word to Mr. Burt, who was in the billiard-room, and made an appointment to meet him in the lounge after dinner. I should like to know if you wish to meet him?” Sandy gazed at Julie, but he had meant his words for every one in the party.

“Later will be just as well, Sandy. You ought to say your say with him on the business matter for which he came west. That off the slate, you can mention us. We will be the ‘refreshments after the meat course,’” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

But it happened later, that Sandy and Burt were discovered in the reading-room of the hotel. It had been vacated by the guests who sought outdoor diversions, and the two men considered they would find the place quiet enough for them.

Sandy was cracking his closed hand upon the solid table beside him as Mr. Gilroy came to the door to peep within the room. This conversation sounded very good to him, so Mr. Gilroy tip-toed across to an armchair and listened silently. An illustrated newspaper, open upon a table back of Sanderson, caught his eye, and he leaned over to take it. He saw the date—November 29, 1922—and he wondered that such an old paper should be found upon such a modern hotel’s reading-table. He soon understood how it came there. Mr. Burt had had it in his script case and had shown it to the Ranger. It was a full-page article on the Pueblo Indians, and the illustrations were excellent.

Sanderson seemed to know his subject from A to Z, and the newspaper correspondent soon realized that fact. Both men were so interested in the debate that neither one had noticed the entrance of Mr. Gilroy. Mr. Burt took up the discussion and asked his companion many questions bearing upon the work before them, and Mr. Gilroy, glancing down at the paper upon his knees, saw a line that seemed to answer a question that Burt had just asked. Thereupon he became so intent upon reading the article that he never heard the girls come in quietly and take chairs near the door.

The Ranger was declaring vehemently at the time in defense of the Indians. “I tell you, Mr. Burt, that these United States owe the red Indians more than we citizens can estimate. If that Bursum Bill goes into effect it will be a lasting disgrace to this nation. How is it possible that our Senate can be so misinformed as to pass a bill which will take from the Pueblo Indians in New Mexico thousands of acres of land upon which they depend for a living—land which was bestowed upon them by patented land grants and subsequently confirmed by the Republic of Mexico, and later by the American Government in 1858.

“Should this bill pass the House, the Indians will be deprived not only of their land rights, but also of legal redress. Why, these guileless Pueblos will become the target of so many unscrupulous lawyers who will induce them to sue to recover their land, that the courts of New Mexico will be congested with their claims.

“The award of these Indian lands to non-Indian claimants leaves no possibility for defense to the Indians. The Bursum Bill dooms the agricultural future of the Pueblo Indians; it would also appropriate a section which strikes at the center of their tribal life. These Indians have been self-governing, and the judgment of well-informed investigators who know the form of these tribal governments declare that this system is the best safeguard of the morale of the race. Destroy their traditions alike with their tribal government, and you destroy the moral fiber of the individual Indian.”

“So far you’re right, Mr. Sanderson, but you forget that one white man is surely worth more than a poor ignorant Indian,” argued Mr. Burt.

“Surely ‘a man’s a man’ no matter what may be his color,” declared the Ranger. “Eight thousand industrious farmers out there are more valuable to the United States than eight thousand promoters of graft, be they white or red. Another unfair thing is the breaking up of the Indians’ form of government, which means, actually, that you affect the vital community centers of these quiet, peaceable farmers; at the same time it means that such a step is calculated to so disturb the poor Indian that he will give up his land the quicker.”

“Oh, Mr. Sanderson, I think you have the wrong slant on this matter,” objected the newspaper man.

“I think, Mr. Burt, that I have every slant that is possible to get—all but one slant which I refuse to entertain, and that is the grafters’ slant.”

“Now you are unjust. As far as I have looked into this entire matter I find a singular absence of anything that would seem like personal reward for this measure being adopted,” said Mr. Burt.

Sanderson smiled tolerantly. “How about the Mescalers Bill, also introduced by the Senator of New Mexico, to establish an All-Year-National-Park, but the bill would include the establishment of private leaseholds to commercial enterprises. A fine ideal for our National Parks!”

Mr. Burt seemed ill at ease, but the young Ranger gave him small chance to offer further opinions on the subject.

“Every fair-minded Westerner recognizes the necessity of clearing up the conflicting Spanish and American land grants in New Mexico, but we want this done without illegal treatment of the honest, faithful natives of the land.

“Many disputants maintain that the Pueblo Indians are so lazy that they won’t farm what little land they have, so why should they not give up tracts which they do not live upon. Simple enough to one who will study the situation fairly: most of the good, irrigable land has been encroached upon by non-Indian claimants, leaving the arid, unirrigated portions to the unprotesting Indian farmer who strives pitifully to make a living for himself and his dependents.”

“Why don’t the fellows protest in a way which will get some one after the land grabbers?” demanded Mr. Burt. “I am out here to write up the situation for my paper, not to show partiality to either side.”

“Well, then, Mr. Burt, let me tell you this much—from an impartial observation of one who has studied the problem for some years, and visited the Pueblos during all of several summer vacations—the passing of this Bursum Bill means that the water rights for irrigation belongs to those who have seized and held such water rights for the past four years. Can you imagine anything more intolerable, and so open-handed in its grab as this law? And this in defiance of an existing law of the United States Supreme Court in 1913 which ruled that no statute of limitation can operate against the Indians because they are Government proteges.”

“Gee! I didn’t know this!” exclaimed the newspaper man, apparently stirred.

“Maybe you didn’t, but this you know: that in New Mexico and Arizona where water means everything—and any land that cannot get water is absolutely valueless—any private ownership, or a syndicate’s claim on water rights, means added taxation, or no water—get me?” fumed Sanderson.

“Yes, I do. But tell me, Ranger, is there any solution, in your mind, for this problem?” demanded Burt.

“The solution is water ! the draining of the waterlogged sections and the storage of it for irrigation purposes. The mountains of New Mexico, as well as the Rio Grande and other rivers, supply ample water sources for all the irrigation needed to make this land more fertile than you can imagine. Such work will not only redeem the deserts but redeem our honor, as well, because it will place the Indian above want and deprive the grafter of one secret way of wringing money from the defenseless.”

“Say, Sanderson, this must be my lucky day. I swore under my breath when I got word from the boss of our paper to stop off at Springer to wait for a messenger who would meet me. But I’d rather have met you and heard more on this subject than have spent the time in Las Vegas, in a luxurious hotel,” remarked Mr. Burt.

Sanderson smiled. “You didn’t think so when you first began to argue with me, did you? I have been given leave of absence from duty in order to accompany you and help you get ‘the right slant’ on this problem.”

“Well,” said Mr. Burt, “had I been given a choice of companions on this jaunt, I could not have selected one more to my liking.”

During the discussion between Sanderson and the newspaper man, Mr. Gilroy and the scouts sat perfectly quiet and listened. Julie was not a little chagrined to learn that she would not be the only attraction now; and Mr. Gilroy was amazed to learn how much the young man knew of the subject under debate. At this time Mr. Vernon entered the room and spoke loud enough to include every one in the party.

“Well! I’ve been going around in search of you people, but I never expected to find that you-all had turned literary so suddenly. Why all this mouselike quiet in the reading-room, and not one of you besides Gilly with a paper in your hands?”

Sanderson turned around and smiled to find his friends seated behind him. The Ranger now introduced his companion to his friends and explained his mission in the southwest. The scouts listened eagerly, for here was a political and also an ethical problem before the people of the United States, and these girls were about to visit the Indians about whom the debate had just taken place.

“Lucky no guests came in here to read quietly while you were arguing,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, laughingly.

Later, while the others were planning for the morrow’s trip, Julie got the newspaper correspondent in a corner and talked most confidentially to him. He took several sheets of closely written paper which she showed him and then he nodded with interest. Sandy, as he pretended to be listening to Mr. Vernon, watched jealously.

Joan could not hear what was said, nor would she ask her chum to confide whatever it was she seemed so interested in. After Mr. Burt left the room, Julie sat at the desk and wrote as if for dear life. Joan watched, thinking she must be sending a letter to a sweetheart in Elmertown. But which one? Joan knew Julie had no preference, though she had many admirers because of her attractive personality.

The bulky letter finished, Julie sealed it carefully and hurried to the mail-box, without a glance at her chum. Joan would not wait to meet her but ran upstairs and pretended to be sleeping when Julie came in the room.

The addition of young Sanderson and the hustling young newspaper reporter to the scout group was hailed by the four misses, as well as approved by Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, but the Captain felt dubious over the daily association of such a handsome young Ranger in the becoming green uniform of the official forester, and the fascinating entertainer, Mr. Burt. She noted with trepidation that Julie often seemed to get the newspaper correspondent by himself and talk confidentially with him. This was unusual for Julie, and Mrs. Vernon wondered at her, but decided to withhold any comment for the present.

The atmosphere of Las Vegas is one of its most remarkable attractions. Looking off toward the Cimarron range, or the Spanish Peaks, the clarity of the air tints everything with pastel shades. One can see Pike’s Peak in central Colorado seemingly quite close at hand; and the snow-capped Northern Rockies, more than two hundred miles away, seem quite near.

At Las Vegas the scouts found three cities in one: first, the ancient Spanish, then the up-to-date town with its fine hotel called the Castañeda, and, thirdly, the health resort town with its famous Las Vegas Hot Springs. At these Springs, which are a paradise for the sick or for those who believe in prevention of illness, you may sport about in boiling mineral waters, if you choose, or merely bask in the sunshine and enjoy the exhilarating air.

The following morning the Ranger led the party along the trail to Hot Springs, thence on to the Gallinas Cañon where 60,000 tons of ice are cut and shipped annually to points for 600 miles area. This ice forms at night, but the walls of the Cañon prevent the rays of the sun from ever penetrating to the bottom; thus the temperature during the day remains at the point which keeps the ice from melting.

From Las Vegas a great scenic highway of over eight thousand feet above sea level was followed by the scouts. This trail skirted forbidden cañons, sequestered lakes, ran at the base of snow-capped peaks, and through densest forests of yellow pine.

“Perhaps you do not know that the Rangers have made most of the splendid trails throughout the mountains,” said Sanderson, when Mr. Burt commented on the excellence of the road.

“I don’t see how you ever find time with all the other duties you are supposed to do,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.

“Why, Captain, right in the Pecos Forest alone you will find about six hundred miles of the finest trails which have been cut by us as our patrol rounds demanded,” explained Sanderson.

“No wonder you have such muscle and not an ounce of flesh!” laughed Mr. Vernon, admiring the erect, slender form in front of him.

“Another thing you’ll find in the Pecos—all the game we will need for food whenever we camp. If you prefer trout, all you have to do is to camp on the banks of a stream. The trout jump into the frying pan and cook themselves. Should you prefer wild turkey or quail, even venison, just wish and there it is!”

“Gee! what wouldn’t I give to have time to go with you on a hunting trip,” exclaimed Burt.

“You would never enjoy a hunting trip with me,” declared the Ranger, “for the best of reasons: I never hunt or kill for sport. If I need food, I take it, but I have yet to kill for the satisfaction of seeing a wild creature give up its life just because I can use a gun.”

The scouts felt like applauding this polite rebuke to the Tenderfoot’s zest for hunting, but they knew enough to hide their sentiments.

“How about mountain lions and wildcats? I heard that the Service hailed those who would help to clean them out of these forests in order to preserve the deer and harmless wild creatures. I read last winter that as many as a dozen bears were caught in a few weeks on one ranch alone out here. That doesn’t look much like protection,” returned Burt.

“Oh, the destructive beasts, you meant! That is all right, but killing of deer, or wild game birds, for the sake of hunting is quite another thing,” said the Ranger.

Conversation during the trip from Las Vegas to the next camp that day was like a game of tennis—the ball was batted back and forth between the players: the men on the one side and the scouts on the other. But this conversational ball was made of such stuff as would educate and inform the girls so that they would the better understand and appreciate the country and conditions they visited.

At noon, the first day out from Las Vegas, they camped on Bernal Creek and the scouts listened to Sanderson talk, thus they learned that in the 750,000 acres of land in the Pecos Forest the pine trees stand from eighty to a hundred and fifty feet in height; that the Rangers have to protect the young saplings; and harrow the ground where quantities of pine are cut and removed—this to keep a new growth coming on to replace the trees taken out.

That night they camped on the Pecos River, near Blanchard. The next day, having followed the remarkable trail along the Pecos River and passing many farms which dotted the land, the scout party climbed to an elevation of 8,000 feet, where they found the little adobe town of Pecos. It looks more like an ancient village in Spain than an American settlement in the twentieth century; the people living in the simplest manner and dressing in picturesque ways: women in full, short skirts, with gay shawls over their heads or upon their shoulders; children in red or blue calicos; men with sombreros, loose shirts and bandannas around their swarthy necks; goats grazing everywhere; old houses, bright flowers, red sand—all served to paint a picture for the girls.

Here, quite unexpectedly, Sanderson met a Ranger from the Government Lookout at Panchuelo. He had been at Glorieta to restock the larder from the meager supply to be had from the grocer. To the surprise of the Easterners they heard from him that fresh meat could be had there at prices which were current thirty and forty years ago—before the great meat trusts choked the individual butcher out of business.

“Mr. Gilroy,” said Sanderson, “I advised Mr. Burt that we go forward to Santa Fé to get important papers he will need. My friend here says he will escort you up the forest trail; he knows the country better than I, and he is a good camp-cook.”

As this was a practical suggestion, it was agreed that the scouts were to go with Ranger Johnson, while Sanderson and Burt, after attending to some publicity work in Santa Fé for the Pueblo Indians, would join the scouts at Taos Pueblo. Thus the two young men said good-by and departed.

Ranger Johnson suggested the Apache Inn, at Valley Ranch, where he knew the tourists could be entertained for that night. “But,” said the Ranger, “before we leave for Valley Ranch, Mr. Gilroy, you may wish to escort the scouts about the town.”

“We might get lost in such a great city,” giggled Joan.

“Lost in wonderment, maybe,” retorted the Ranger. “There’s a little mission church said to have been built way back in 1600; and the ruins of a prehistoric Indian Pueblo named Cicuye—it is worth photographing. Then there’s the Pecos Ruins halfway to Valley Ranch. A view of this real Mexican town is well worth the trouble of going to see it. The house where you will stay to-night, with its whitewashed walls glistening in the sunshine, will make a good picture, too.”

That night the scouts stayed at Apache Inn as planned, and early the next morning they started off, with Ranger Johnson leading up the Pecos Cañon. The trail ran close to the edge of the cliffs, but the walls of the Cañon were heavily wooded to the bottom where ran the Pecos River, hence the danger, if one went over the edge, was not so great.

Camps and cabins with visitors from everywhere dotted the groves or parks wherever a good camp-site was to be found along the trail of the Pecos River. There were many Cañons which forked off from the main one, and upon the wooden level knolls one could see the tents or the portable bungalows of the summering visitors.

The trail zig-zagged up through the forest of aspens and sentinel pines, close by sparkling waterfalls and glistening cascades, past many a cool trout pool, till the top of Baldy Pecos loomed up far ahead.

“How far is this from Pecos Town, Mr. Johnson?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“Folks will tell you it is only twenty miles—straight up. But who ever came up here straight ! An aëroplane might do it, but not a Mexican pony! Just think of the way we zig-zag and go round the bluffs.”

“What is our objective for to-day’s trip, Ranger?” asked Julie, gazing at the peaks which seemed so near but were actually miles farther north.

“Why, I plan to take you to Grass Mountain, where my friend and I have charge of the branch station. To-morrow I will take you to Panchuelo, where you will be able to see a view that will never be forgotten. From the U. S. Forest Rangers’ observatory you can see the entire Pecos Valley, as well as get closely acquainted with the Santa Fé Range on the other side of the Pecos Cañon. We’ll spend the night with my friends at the lookout and start you on the trail early in the morning.”

The air was most exhilarating, but it got to be so cool that the Captain called a halt in order to make the girls don their heavy sweaters. Even the men took advantage of the stop to get out their cardigan vests and slip them on under their coats.

Finally, they reached the top of Grass Mountain and were introduced by Ranger Johnson to his friend in the service.

The view from this plateau was all that had been said of it, but even that leaves much to be said, because mere words are so inadequate to describe such a glory. The scouts stood looking down the Las Vegas Valley, then they crossed the plateau and looked down the Pecos Valley. To the north the Santa Fé Range, and in still another direction stretched the Sangre de Cristo Range.

“Yes, this certainly is worth the effort of coming up,” remarked Mr. Gilroy, nodding approvingly.

“I don’t see that you made an effort,” retorted Julie; “it was the poor horse that had to carry you.” The others laughed, and Joan added: “A hundred and eighty pounds good weight, too!”

As there was ample bedding to be had for the plucking, the scouts decided to weave their beds and get supper preparations under way before they accepted the invitation of Ranger Johnson to go up into the observatory and gaze through the powerful telescopes. By the time the beds were finished, however, it was too late to see very much, though the senior Ranger of this station, Mr. Oliver, tried to direct their gaze to certain points.

Ranger Johnson was told to invite his associates to dine with the scout-party, and a merry group sat down as the last rays of the setting sun shot up over the distant peaks and touched the tin dishes, transforming them suddenly to golden platters.

That evening around the cheerful camp-fire the Rangers told their adventures; then Mrs. Vernon requested Tally to tell of his winter experiences. The Guide, eager to oblige, described his escapes from the blizzards, his fights with the grizzlies, and other thrills of a trapper’s life. Finally he was persuaded to relate one of his Indian legends.

“We haven’t heard any of your new stock, you know,” added Joan.

“Oh! wait just a moment, please, before you begin, Tally,” called Julie, jumping up and running to her bag for a pad and pencil. Returning with the desired articles she squatted again on the ground in front of the camp-fire and said: “Now, then—all set!”

The others laughed at the movie term, then Tally said: “Dis gon’a be a leetle injun tale, ’bout so beeg,” and he held his hands apart for a length of about six inches to show the size of the story he proposed telling.

As Tally told the story, Julie wrote quickly, and this is her copy of it which she sent to the Elmertown Record .

“Once upon a time the Beaver and Porcupine were very good friends. They traveled everywhere together and kept each other informed of all that happened; and, because of the Porcupine’s sharp quills, other inhabitants of the woods shunned them both.

“The Bear was in constant fear of the Porcupine; he had experienced the sharpness of those quills, but he preferred the Beaver for a dinner and he endeavored to break up a beaver-dam just to catch and eat one of the family. The Porcupine stayed in the Beaver’s home which is very dry inside and comfortable to live in; so, when the Bear would try to tear down the dam to let the water run away and expose the Beavers, the Porcupine generally came out to object. When the Bear saw his enemy he, with an apology, would hurry away. Then the Porcupine would jeer and the Beavers usually came out to hoot at their clumsy adversary.

“But the dam had to be repaired, hence the Porcupine sat and kept guard during that time. When the dam was almost completed, the Porcupine said: ‘My, but I am hungry! Will you come with me while I get some bark and sap from yonder tree?’

“Now the Beaver cannot climb trees, so he replied: ‘Friend, I will remain here at the bottom and wait while you eat your fill.’

“The Porcupine was soon up in the tree enjoying his supper, then the stealthy old Bear crept back to catch the Beaver. But the wise Beaver saw him coming and called to his partner:

“‘Brother, the Bear is coming! What shall I do?’

“The Porcupine slid down the tree quickly and said: ‘Lay your head close to my back and I will help you up the tree.’

“So the Beaver was helped into the crotch of the lower limbs of the tree, and the Porcupine waited near the ground to drive off the Bear. After a time, the Bear being gone, the Porcupine jumped down from the tree, but the Beaver was huddled where the boughs branched from the trunk.

“‘Oh, come and help me down!’ cried he to the Porcupine, but the little animal pretended not to hear him.

“‘I will do anything for you, if you will only take me down,’ begged the Beaver, in great distress.

“The Porcupine, paying no attention to his friend, hurried away. Then a Squirrel, another friend of the Beaver, brought a number of his colony and helped the frightened Beaver down safely to the ground.

“‘Where is my partner, the Porcupine?’ asked Beaver of the Squirrels, after he had thanked them for their aid.

“‘We saw him scurry away to a hole in the rocks where lives a family of Porcupines. He was telling them of the trick he had played on you and when they laughed so loudly I heard about the trouble you were in,’ said the friendly Squirrel.

“The Beaver said nothing, but went his way and resumed work on the dam. He swam up and down the stream, and cut or carried the alders as he needed them for the repairs. Then one day the Porcupine came back.

“Beaver saw him coming and called out: ‘Come down to the house and enjoy yourself.’

“But Porcupine was afraid of getting wet.

“‘Oh, just climb upon my back and I will swim with you,’ suggested Beaver.

“Then Porcupine climbed upon his host’s back and held on firmly. The Beaver flapped his broad tail on the water and made a dive, then came to the surface again. The Porcupine shivered and shook in fear for he did not like being submerged that way. The Beaver laughed and said, ‘Oh, that’s nothing! I consider it great fun to dive.’

“Again he went under the water and when he arose to the surface he flapped his tail energetically so that the water flew over everything. Finally he swam to an island in the lake and put the Porcupine ashore, then went flapping away.

“The little Porcupine wandered about the small island, but could not get away. He climbed a tree and called for the Beaver to come and take him off, but the Beaver seemed not to hear as he continued building the dam.

“Then the Porcupine climbed the tree again and cried and cried for help until a Wolverine heard his call.

“‘What is the matter with you?’ screamed the Wolverine.

“I want the North Wind to blow and freeze the lake, so I can crawl back to shore and go home.’

“The Wolverine then called all the wild-wood creatures together on the shore of the lake and began calling to the North Wind.

“The North Wind, cross and sulky, because he was disturbed before his season for blowing, came out of the cave and whistled furiously for a time, then blew gustily over the face of the lake. The ice formed and soon the Porcupine crawled carefully back to land and scampered home.

“But the Beaver and Porcupine were friends no longer, so the Porcupine made overtures to the Ground-hog and they lived together up on the mountainside where they could spy upon the men that came hunting.

“One day a man climbed the mountainside to hunt, and the Porcupine sang out: ‘Up to the home of the Ground-hog! Up to the home of the Ground-hog!’

“The man heard and followed the sound till he found the spot where the Ground-hogs lived. He trapped and killed a small Ground-hog and then sat down to skin it. This done, he made a hot fire between some stones and was about to roast the hog, when the head plainly sang to him:

“‘My poor little head! my poor little head, you will never fill his stomach!’

“The hunter was so frightened at hearing the head speak that he jumped up and started home without tasting the meat. He told his friends about the queer experience and they marveled.

“The next day the hunter went to look after his beartraps. The Porcupine, from sheer curiosity, crept over to see if the Bear had been caught. The man tightened the release of one of the traps, but the dead-fall came down and struck the Porcupine on the back of the neck. His head fell off and, as it rolled away under the leaves, a Ground-hog came from its hole.

“The hunter went his way, but the Ground-hogs said: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Ground-hogs again!’

“The Beavers heard the echo of the cry and hurried to the spot where the Porcupine’s head lay, and they took up the refrain: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Beavers again!’

“But the old Bear, who was glad, also, that the Porcupine was dead, kept away from the spot, for he knew the trap was as dangerous as the quills.”

As Tally concluded his camp-fire tale the scouts looked disappointed, and Joan said: “Oh, is that all?”

“It was quite long enough,” said Mrs. Vernon. “It is time for bed, because we wish to get up at dawn and resume the climb to the peak.”

Thus, with the next day’s adventures in mind the girls agreed to go to bed without offering any protests.

It was so cold up on Grass Mountain that night that the scouts shivered in their sleep, and all were glad to jump up early in the morning to bestir themselves and get the blood circulating freely.

After Tally had the horses ready and waiting for a start in the morning, Ranger Johnson announced: “Sorry I’m not to be in on this picnic to-day, friends, but my pal Oliver and I take turn and turn about. And this is his day off. He says he’ll be delighted to ride over to Lake Park with you-all and back-trail to Grass Mountain after leaving you in camp up at Mountain View.”

“Is Lake Park near the trail we plan to follow?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“Yes; in fact it forms the eastern boundary line of the Park,” explained Johnson. “By riding to Lake Park you get a wholesale group of sights in one day. There is Santa Lake, Aspen Mountain, Stewart’s Lake, Santa Fé Baldy, and Spirit Lake. You ought to be able to get along the up-trail before sundown and pitch camp at the first good spring or camp-site you come to. Oliver says he can see you comfortably settled for this night and then ride back here, as he knows these trails by heart.”

“That’s awfully good of him, Johnson, but we have no right to take his day like that,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Why, he’ll enjoy the outing more than any of you. It’s so seldom we get a chance to picnic with the sort of people who make things pleasant,” said Johnson.

So it was settled that Oliver should go with them that day, and in less than ten minutes’ time Johnson was left standing on a bowlder envying the good times his chum was about to have with the scout-party.

Having ridden down from Grass Mountain and crossed the trail to take a short cut to Lake Park, it was Oliver’s suggestion to leave the three packburros hobbled somewhere along the trail. As the scouts could ride on twice as fast, and be able to get back to the Pecos River trail that much sooner, this plan was agreed upon, and Oliver showed Tally an excellent spot where the animals might graze during the day. The packs were cached under some rocks, and the burros secured, then the scouts rode away to the park as had been outlined by the Ranger at breakfast that morning. By four o’clock that afternoon, the scouts sent Tally for the burros, and then, reaching Winsor, said good-by to Oliver, who continued on the trail to his station, while they rode on further and pitched camp on the Pecos River, just south of Panchuelo.

They had been undecided whether, after reaching Panchuelo, to take the trail that followed the Rio del Pueblo for some distance on the trail to Taos, or whether to turn northwest and follow the trail to Truchas, thence northeast to Taos. Therefore at the breakfast, next morning, a vote was taken and because there was a possibility of having Ranger Sanderson and Mr. Burt overtake them on that trail from Santa Fé to Taos, Truchas trail won the election.

Panchuelo was located at the fork of these two Taos trails and the scouts wished to ride on a short distance to visit Round Mountain and Pecos Baldy, so they debated what to do with the burros.

“What’s the use of dragging these slow coaches over the trail to the mountains and back again?” demanded Mr. Gilroy. “Why not do as Oliver did yesterday—find a place to hobble them and, later, send Tally to get them?”

“All right!” agreed Mr. Vernon. “Tally, we’ll ride on, and you hide the burros somewhere along the trail where they can graze till you come for them.”

“But do not unpack? We won’t be at the peaks more than three hours,” added Mrs. Vernon.

After breakfast the party rode on to the Forest Station, where they were cordially received. Not till they stopped to look around were the scouts aware of the altitude of Panchuelo. Now they stood in the Lookout gazing upon the peaks of surrounding mountains which stood out clearly in the morning light; they found that the far-down dots betokened villages and camps in the valleys. Silvery streams winding here or there showed where the Pecos and other rivers followed the course of least resistance.

Having visited and photographed everything of interest at the station the scouts bid good-by to the Foresters and rode away to the northeast point of the triangle trail, thence westerly to the Truchas point, where they were to meet the guide. He was not there.

“How could he be, when he has three burros to push and pull along the road?” said Julie.

Finally, waiting got to be irksome, and the Captain suggested that some one return to the Panchuelo point of the trail to see if anything had happened to the Indian or to the burros.

Then Tally himself came to explain.

“Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped. “I hunt and hunt an’ I axe ever’ one what pass, but nobody see dem!”

“Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped.

“Why! Where do you suppose they could have gone?” gasped Mr. Gilroy. But Tally was already on the way back, so they all turned and followed him.

“Tally, what do you say? did the burros run back to Grass Mountain? If they did we shall soon know because Oliver will bring them down,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Burros go down-trail,” remarked Tally, “Not ’lone; two man-riders drive ’em.”

This amazing information surprised the scouts, and Mr. Gilroy said: “How do you know.”

Tally explained about faint impressions made by the hoofs of the burros, and the tracks made by two larger animals.

After a time they came back to the place where the burros had been left.

“Dem men not gone long. He drop ash here, see?” and the guide pointed to a small rock beside the trail where some one had knocked the ashes from a smoking-pipe.

“Even that does not prove it to be from a man to-day. That may be from last night,” returned Mr. Vernon, deeply interested in Tally’s deductions.

“Dem foot-tracks not last night’s,” said Tally, showing plainly where the grass had been pressed flat.

“If that had been from last night the dew would have freshened it so that the blades would have straightened again,” added Betty, her scout-lore expressing itself.

“Then we’d better ride on and overtake the zealous assistants!” was the Captain’s advice.

“You mean if they allow us to,” Mr. Gilroy amended. Tally had jumped into his saddle and now he started ahead of the others, but he kept his eyes fixed upon the faint tracks in the trail as he went. Halfway between Panchuelo and Winsor was a trail which ran along the northly boundary of Lake Park and so on down to Santa Fé. This they followed, the guide leading. Just before they reached the foot of Santa Fé Baldy they came to a rushing torrent with a rough-hewn bridge of logs across it.

Tally halted, and said: “Burros and riders no go up-trail f’om here. Mebbe men lead um up brook to fores’,” and the guide pointed to a small tributary which emptied into the larger stream which was spanned by the bridge upon which his horse stood.

“Well, Tally, what shall we do?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“Me scout here for signs if he’em come out. Tally got full gun,” the Guide patted a Colt’s revolver upon his hip. “Boss take some scouts up-trail an’ keep look-out for Ranger San’son, en some scout go wid Mr. Vernon down-trail f’om Winsor en ask eve’y touris’ if dey see men who got packburros what look familiar, see?”

“Yes, I see, Tally. But they may be down at one of the towns by now, and the animals with our packs sold. Or they may be hiding in the woods, waiting for a chance to come out again. Whichever it is we will be without camping equipment and nowhere to get new things,” worried Mrs. Vernon.

“You-all got hosses. Always scouts kin ride to hotel and get bed and board,” was Tally’s practical reply.

“You’re right, Tally; some of us go Lake Park trail, and some ride the Aspen Mountain trail and wait at Bishop’s Lodge. You stay and hunt man, but be sure and meet us before dark at the Lodge,” said Mr. Gilroy.

It was sundown that evening, when the girls, accompanied by Mr. Vernon and the Captain, rode up to Bishop’s Lodge to secure accommodations for the night. Tally and Mr. Gilroy were out on the trails still hunting for the men who had stolen the burros. While Mr. Vernon registered, the girls stood near by talking.

“It’s just like a horrid nightmare where you start for a place and some unseen foe holds you back,” said Joan.

“I suppose Sandy and Mr. Burt are almost up in Taos by this time,” wailed Julie.

“Who’s taking our names in vain?” called a genial voice from behind a wide-open newspaper. The man thus screened, sat in a chair in the corner. Now he jumped up and laughingly came forward.

“Wby, Sandy! Where did you come from?” cried the girls in one voice.

“Right straight to you from that corner,” said the Ranger, pointing to the paper on the chair.

“My! but you’re good for sore eyes, old chap,” remarked Mr. Vernon, shaking hands with the Ranger.

“Yes, eyes sore from hunting for needles lost in a haystack,” laughed Julie.

Sanderson smiled at her as she spoke. He had not believed Julie so enchanting as he now found her to be. But the recital of a tale of woe now demanded his attention. When Mr. Vernon’s story was ended, the Ranger’s advice was asked.

“Burt and I arrived here not twenty minutes before you came. He is out somewhere, but I wanted to see the papers before dinner. I saw you come up to the door and I hid myself to see what you would do when you found me,” explained Sanderson.

Then he proceeded to outline what could be done to get the burros as well as the men, common rustlers without a doubt, who had stolen the animals.

“We have the beasts insured, Sandy, and I’m not worried about them , but we had dandy camping outfits as you know, and we need them for our entire season,” complained Mr. Vernon.

“Leave it to me, Mr. Vernon, and you’ll get them all back in no time,” promised Sanderson, “but that means I shall have to leave you here with Burt while I run back to Santa Fé to pick up a coupla guides who can find anything in New Mexico.”

Sanderson, merely leaving word for Burt, rode away on his wonderful horse to Santa Fé, to find the Indians, of whom he had spoken. He said he would be back at the lodge that night in order to start his men on the hunt at dawn in the morning.

As long as the scouts had visited the Pecos Region and now were down where the trail ran north to the Nambe Indian Pueblos, and thence on to Truchas and northwest to Taos, it was agreed that they would ride with Sanderson and Burt when they started up that trail.

For various reasons the scouts refused to retire that night. One was, Sanderson had not yet returned; another was that they fully expected to have Tally and Mr. Gilroy come in at any moment, and they wished to be on hand to hear all the news if either party arrived.

“Evidently, Sandy has not had so simple a job in finding his Indians, as he had expected,” remarked Mr. Burt, glancing at his watch. It was just eleven.

By eleven-thirty Betty was dozing, and the other girls were doing their best to stifle sleepy yawns. At a quarter to twelve they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs in the court-yard outside, and they all ran to the door to see who it might be.

“Behold the conquering heroes come!” sang Mr. Gilroy, rolling from his horse and limping up to the scouts.

“Oh, Gilly!” exclaimed the girls, trying to peer through the darkness to see who was with Mr. Gilroy.

“Ish me, an’ we got burros all fine!” laughed Tally, finding the scouts could not see him through the darkness of the night.

“And some ride we’ve had from Lake Park here!” grumbled Mr. Gilroy. “Had it not been for those bully Rangers, Tally and I might have lost our way again and again.”

“Oh, Boss! Not say so for Tally!” exclaimed the Indian. “You know you mek me go your trail an’ he’em alius wrong one. But you be Boss, and Tally have to mind you.”

As every one laughed at this, Burt added: “Come in, Tally, and tell us all about it. At the same time we’ll see if there’s a chance of getting at the pantry to find you some supper.”

Burt enlisted the sympathies of the night-clerk who went with the newspaper man to the culinary regions. Within ten minutes’ time they both returned.

“Now, then, boys, you come with me and sit down to the impromptu spread,” was Burt’s hearty invitation to the belated wanderers.

“We’re all coming,” declared Julie; “if we don’t, you’ll hear the whole story and then we girls’ll have to have it warmed over.”

Mr. Gilroy laughed. “Come on, you’re in the game.”

After sitting down to a table in the corner of the room the two men spoke not a word but plied knife and fork diligently for a time. Finally Julie exclaimed: “Don’t use all your power on the supper—spare a little with which to tell the story.” And Mr. Gilroy obeyed.

“Well, you know, soon after you left us to go down the trail to this place, Tally rode into the stream to reach the tributary he had mentioned. This he followed and, soon, I lost all sight and sound of him and the horse. Then I rode back to Winsor where I expected to turn to go up Grass Mountain for the two Rangers’ advice, and to make sure the burros had not strayed back there.

“I had almost reached Winsor, when I noticed smoke drifting up the trail. I cursed such luck that would call the Rangers to fight a forest fire just when I wanted to find them. But I rode on hoping I might meet them.

“Then the thought flashed through my mind that this fire might drive the horse-thieves to the trail, or burn the slow-going burros with our packs.

“I had not traveled much farther, before I heard the echo of several horses’ hoofs pounding down the hard trail.

“In a short time I saw a number of fire-fighters come tearing over the trail. To my intense relief I saw Oliver and Johnson with them. They recognized me and called to know if I was lost; I tried to explain, but they told me to join them. Then Oliver said:

“‘Panchuelo telephoned our station that a tiny spiral of smoke was seen to rise from the woods at Lake Park. They thought some camper must have left a fire smoldering and gone away to let it eat into dry timber and start a flare.

“‘Johnson and I left orders for our subs on Grass Mountain and caught up our tools, then jumped into the saddle and were off down-trail to meet the other boys coming from Panchuelo.

“‘When we met they told us you had been there and had marveled at the view of the surrounding country when seen through the powerful lens we keep in the observatory. The scouts seemed surprised to hear that a Ranger’s life was not one of ease and “high-living,” laughed Oliver.

“‘And I’m surprised to hear you chat so unconcernedly, Oliver, while we’re on our way to a conflagration,’ said I.

“Oliver replied: ‘We’re used to this. But as I was about to say, you scouts seemed amazed to find that our territory stretches over an area of 100,000 acres. That we have to patrol this area and watch for timber thieves, forest fires, floods, and other calamities to which the forest is subjected; then as a little diversion we construct roads, build bridges, clean away debris and such.

“Oliver now gave me a chance to explain why I had been alone on the road when they had found me.

“I heard Johnson say to Oliver, ‘Say, that may explain the presence of those two disreputable characters that were reported to be camping in Lake Park.’

“And Oliver replied: ‘If we find them I bet we find the three burros.’

“Well, that was some adventure, girls—that fire!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy.

“Is that all you’ve got to say about it?” demanded Mr. Vernon, impatiently.

“Great Scott, no! I haven’t begun yet.”

“Goodness sakes! It’s past midnight now,” retorted Mrs. Vernon; “when do you expect my girls to sleep if you drag on this way?”

“Oh, Verny! We don’t want any sleep,” declared Joan, and her friends agreed eagerly with her decision.

“I wish you’d all feel this way in the morning, when I have to pull you up,” laughed the Captain.

“If you females will only give me your silence for a time, I’ll finish my story and then you can go to bed,” said Mr. Gilroy, authoritatively. Burt and Mr. Vernon laughed, but Tally continued eating for dear life.

“Well, Oliver and Johnson and I caught up with the other Rangers by the time they were ready to leave the trail and break into the woods. They had drafted every tourist and Indian they met on the road, and we had quite a squad to fight against the fire. I was given a spade and told to get busy when the orders were issued.

“Then we were sent in units to different sections.

“We three, Oliver, Johnson and myself, were sent to a point up the trail for some distance and told to work down to the others.

“Oliver, pausing in the run, said to Johnson: ‘Looks like a mess over there, Johnny. But the wind is for us to-day; it’s blowing in the direction of the open trail and the Ruins.’

“Johnson nodded understandingly, but rode on. Later they met a number of men and several Rangers who had been summoned by the telephone call from other stations. Tally was not to be found at the bridge, neither had the aids, when questioned, seen him or his pony.

“The ‘Ruins’ proved to be a vast area of great bowlders with not a green blade growing there. As this barren, rocky place covered more than five acres, from the stream on one side and the upward slope of the mountain on the other, the fire-fighters could devote their entire attention to that side where the tall trees offered excellent fuel to the fire.

“Working side by side, cutting and chopping away with the double-bitted axes, spading up fresh earth wherever it was possible to turn under any inflammable timber, the dauntless men progressed step by step, yard by yard, till the solid green wall on the up-side began to gap widely.

“But the fire had been advancing, too. Now the men could feel the heat from the flames, and the air became filled with choking smoke and fine, falling wood-ashes. Cries and terror-stricken calls from wild denizens of the forest served to increase the energy and zeal of these systematic fire-fighters.

“As the men and the fire came nearer each other, the trees seemed to drip red-hot cinders. The heat became unbearable, and the fire seemed to win the battle for supremacy, but the wide swath made by the axes now began to have its effect on the encroaching blaze.

“Ranger Oliver blew his patrol whistle to signal the men away from their positions. Here and there he saw spots where a little extra work would save the situation, and to such places he sent his aids.

“Finally these brave men, baffling a peril which menaced all alike, realized that they had subdued the enemy. The flames found nothing in its way upon which to feed and advance, hence they began to weaken and die down, lower and lower, until their roar and hellish heat abated.

“The Ranger now commanded: ‘Go to it, boys, and beat out the ground-fire with your mats.’

“For an hour more, therefore, every one whipped and smothered the sparks or kindlings on the ground, till only a blackened, smoking stretch of woodland remained.

“The night came before the Rangers pronounced the danger to be averted for that time, and thanked all those who had rendered such valuable assistance in quenching the fire,” concluded Mr. Gilroy.

“How about our guide and the men found hanging about the Park?” asked Mr. Vernon of Mr. Gilroy and Tally.

“Why, search as they would, not a sign could the fire-fighters see or hear of Tally, his pony, or of the outlaws and the stolen property. When all hope of finding any clews had been abandoned, the men dispersed to go their respective ways. Then I, with the two Rangers, started to the protected spot where we had tethered the horses. Climbing into the saddles, we rode up the trail, discussing meanwhile the possibilities of Tally’s escape.

“‘You know, if your guide had been acquainted in these mountains he could safely have taken another trail at that bridge and have made his way to our lookout by a different trail. We Rangers have to blaze many trails on our sections in order to facilitate our own riding when we have to hurry to a blaze. If a trail is impassable it engenders great areas of forests by giving the fire a chance to spread,’ said Johnson.

“‘Tally is a well-trained guide, and I’d wager anything that he’ll find a trail even where there isn’t one blazed. If it comes to the worst he’ll blaze a trail of his own,’ I said.

“‘He must be a pretty wise chap,’ said Oliver.

“‘He’s that wise that I’ll wager you still further if that fire hasn’t done for those outlaws and the horses, I bet he’ll bring them to time single-handed!’ I added.

“Twilight was darkening into night before we three weary riders said good-by to each other and parted—they to go back to their lookout, and I to ride down here to keep the tryst with you fair ladies.”

As Mr. Gilroy concluded his tale, the scouts cried: “Oh, Gilly! That isn’t all! Where did you find Tally and the burros?”

“Ah! But that’s another yarn which must be told by the hero himself. Now Tally, it is your turn to brag of all you did,” chuckled Mr. Gilroy, leaning back in the chair to hear Tally speak.

At the same time the Guide leaned back in his chair also, and sighing heavily, remarked with satisfaction: “Ah, dat goot job done clean!” Then he pushed his polished plate away from before him and wiped his mouth carefully on the napkin.

The scouts laughed, but Julie added: “Tell us your story.”

“Solly, Mees Jule, but me go fix burros for sleep now,” and with that the Indian slipped away and could not be urged back.

“That was some fine work our Guide accomplished with those two horse-thieves,” remarked Mr. Gilroy, enjoying the inquisitive urging of the girls to make him tell the tale.

“Yes, sir! I won my bet with both those Forest Rangers—or at least I would have won it had we only laid wagers on the result of this work of Tally’s,” he added, smiling at the scouts.

After threats and other ways of making him tell his story the girls finally had him launched.

“Well, it was this way,” he began:

“After I left Tally at the bridge to go up the little brook, while I was to go on to the lookout, he tells me he took his horse to a good hiding-place and then pulled his moccasins out of his panniers and put them upon his feet, then he started.”

“Didn’t he ride his horse?” asked Betty, in surprise.

“No, because a horse with his four hoofs makes more noise than an Indian’s two feet clad in moccasins. And Tally can creep anywhere without making a sound once he has on his moccasins, as you all know,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“But he was taking chances in having those very men get his horse as well as the burros,” ventured Hester.

“No, because Tally knew they would not come back the way they rode away with the burros, and he was too good a Guide to hide his animal in a place easy to find by others.

“Well, he says, he was fully an hour in and out of that stream while examining both banks carefully for tracks of the pack-animals. Finally he saw a spot where the bushes were trampled and broken down. Then, quite unexpectedly, he came to a small clearing where the ashes of a camp fire had slowly but surely eaten a way through the parched grass and would have reached in a short time the fringe of woods. He beat it out before he continued his hunt; and, in thus carefully circling the clearing to quench the fire, he came across the tracks in the earth of the quarry he sought. He was confident now that this was the right trail of the thieves. He also noticed that they were riding the horses which must have been corraled at their camp when they crept out to get the burros.

“He could follow the distinct hoof-prints more speedily, knowing they would lead him to those he was after. But he was careful, while going, to make sure his revolver and the rifle were in order for a moment’s need.

“The tracks led in and out as the men tried to find the easiest way through the forest. At last the trail became so clear that Tally could increase his pace till, quite suddenly, he came out of the thick forest to a small clearing where he found what he wanted. One man was just starting a camp fire, while another was hobbling two horses. The three burros stood waiting patiently to be unloaded after this arduous trail.

“At sight of the two disreputable, grimy-looking men who had two magnificent, blooded steeds with costly trappings, Tally immediately realized that he had a couple of old horse-thieves with whom to deal. Evidently the rustling of the burros with their well-filled packs was the means of sustaining the rascals for a longer time in these forest fastnesses. But Tally despises a horse-thief!

“A full-blooded Indian, descended from a line of famous guides in the Rockies, such as Tally is, becomes cool and considerate in times of need. Here were two desperate outlaws, with the goods for evidence, and here was one young Indian.

“Tally kept behind a tree and watched till the man had finished hobbling the two horses and was returning to his pal at the camp fire. The three burros, Tally noted, were almost between himself and the two thieves. He might spring across the space and screen himself behind the little fellows, but he wanted to deliver the pack-animals alive to his Boss. If he used them as a shield they would be certain to be used as a target by the men.

“After carefully studying the camp-site, Tally decided to skirt the clearing and make his attack from a point much nearer the men. He wished to surprise them, and not give them a chance to get their hands on their guns. Therefore he started to creep noiselessly through the bushes, but the wise little burros must have sensed the presence of a friend, if the wagging of their long ears, and the bright eyes watching the woods where the guide was hidden, proves it.

“As if fortune favored Tally somewhat, one of the men now said: ‘You get some more wood, Ben. Ain’t got ’nuff here to cook nawthin’.’

“‘You go see what grub them packs is got, whiles I k’lect the kindlin’s,’ replied Ben, starting for that part of the woods where Tally waited, hiding behind a pine.

“At the same time, Ben’s partner went for the burros, his thoughts so engrossed on the desirable items of food he was sure to find in those bulky packs, that he paid no attention to his pal.

“Ben, watching where he stepped, loped from the clearing into the dense growth of trees and brush; then, unexpectedly, he heard a faint sound and looked up—into the cold steel muzzle of a Colt’s automatic revolver. He knew the game and, so, without uttering a sound, he threw up both hands. But in doing so, he tried to create a noise with his feet—a sound which might attract his companion’s attention.

“‘Better not!’ hissed Tally, keeping the gun directed at the fellow’s head while fumbling in his shirt for the rope he had thought to thrust there in case of need.

“‘Keep hands over dat head, onless you lak eat bullets,’ was the guide’s cool warning; then, from behind the man, he deftly tied his arms together, and pulled him up to a tree to bind him securely to that stanchion.

“‘I no lak hear much talk. Better show how still you keep,’ mumbled Tally, taking Ben’s dirty bandanna and gagging his mouth.

“Then the Indian left his prisoner and returned to the camp-site.

“Meanwhile the cook had unbuckled one of the packs, but found it contained the portable stove. With an impatient oath he leaned over to feel of the other pannier, when a bright idea seemed to come to him.

“‘Sure ’nuff! why carry the stuff over to the fire, when you lazy critters kin do it for ole Bill: Gid’dap! As he spoke he yanked at Good-for-Nuttin’s bridle and dragged her by the head in the direction of the camp-fire.

“So occupied was Bill in trying to get the three burros to move over to the fire, that he failed to see the silent shadow which now leapt from the woods and landed directly behind him. So close, in fact, that Bill, in taking a backward step while pulling on Nuttin’s harness, felt an unexpected impediment in his pathway. In a flash he felt a hand on his hip and his revolver was gone! Instead of wheeling to confront whoever it was that did this. Bill tried to dash for the burros and get behind them. Tally was too quick.

“Bill dashed, it is true, but Tally could dash, too. And he did, landing as close to his second prisoner as he had stood a moment before.

“‘No goot! han’s up!’ commanded Tally, pushing the cold barrel of the gun up against the temple of the man.

“The rascal’s hands went up, but he turned to see who had captured him. A wicked gleam of fury shot from his eyes when he recognized the guide of the party that he had robbed.

“‘Now, meester outlaw, jes’ mosey up to that fine hoss over there,’ commanded Tally, coolly.

“‘Won’t you let me say a word to my pal?’ demanded Bill, trying to seem brave.

“‘Pooty queek you say lot, but not now. Jes’ now you do lak I say.’ The cold nose of the gun accented this order.

“In a few strides the two men, Captive and Captor, were over beside one of the hobbled horses.

“‘Now tek rope f’om saddle,’ said Tally. The prisoner obeyed, though reluctantly.

“‘You mek leetle noose,’ continued the Guide. This was done, then Tally added: ‘You sleep him ofer two han’s lak bracelet, eh?’

“The Indian covered the man with his gun while giving the rope a twitch that tightened it securely, around the wrists of the outlaw. Then he bound his feet likewise.

“‘Now I eat an’ give my hones’ fren’s, the hosses an’ burrors, some grub; nex’ we plan what to do, eh?” As he outlined his actions, the Indian deftly opened the pack where he had stored the feed. He gave the animals each a good drink of water; then hastily thinking and deciding, he gave each a small measure of oats from the panniers. Then he took a loaf of camp-bread, and a cold, fried trout left from breakfast, and ate quickly. Bill watched greedily, but the guide had no idea of wasting good food on worthless villains.

“After Tally had had a long drink from the spring near by the spot where the camp had been started, he carefully smothered every vestige of the camp fire. Then he glared over at Bill.

“‘Da’s what yuh forget to do down th’ trail. Mebbe he’em mek big blaze ef I not fin’ he’em. Coyotes lak you-all burn down more God Amighdy’s fine trees ’en the Creeador grow up again in a hunerd years. Mebbe you lak feel how fire tas’es to some fine tree, eh?’

“Tally knew the value of a rest to his beasts of burden, so, after they had finished their oats and had had a half hour’s quiet relaxation, he decided to back-trail the way he had come. He made sure that not a spark of the fire remained alive, then he went for Ben who had been left tied to the tree. He led him to the clearing, but Bill groaned aloud when he saw his pal was in the same plight as himself. The Indian made Ben put a foot in the stirrup, “Fine! he’em all right. Now clim’ up saddle on dat beeg hoss,” ordered Tally.

When Ben, hands, feet and body, was secured there, Tally went back to Bill and drove him over to get up behind his pal. How the rascal managed to sit upon the shiny rump of the animal was a wonder.

“Then the Guide sprang into the saddle of the other horse and started his private caravan out of the clearing. He had gone back as far as the old camp-site where the smoldering fire had been stamped out just in time to prevent a conflagration, when an ominous sound from ahead and above reached his acute hearing. Also the instincts of the high-bred horses caused them to snort and paw the ground. The three little burros flapped their great ears fearsomely, while the hair on their necks seemed to stand up like bristles on a brush.

“‘Um-m-mm! murmured Tally, taking in the situation at once. ‘Mebbe you fine outlaws mek udder fires an’ leave he’em lak you leave one dis mornin’, so now we have fine beeg fores’ fire!’

“The Indian’s eyes flashed as he spoke. ‘Mebbe now I tie you to jus’ such beeg tree lak you burn down, an’ leaf you to tas’ nice hot fire what you mek. My burro an’ dese two fine hosses what you steal, we go down-trail an’ get out after we leaf you here.

“There was no mistaking the signs that the forest was on fire, but the two cowards who now realized that the blaze was up in the direction of their camp of yesterday cringed and begged of Tally to hurry and get them out, else they would be roasted to death.

“‘Da’s goot for men what leaf camp fire smolder! goot for ’em to feel how fine beeg trees feel when flames roast efery one. Mebbe you know better when you baked goot and black lak forest after fire,’ Tally believed in ‘rubbing it in’ once he had the golden opportunity.

“But he kept on down the trail, in spite of his threats to stop and tie the two outlaws to the trees which now seemed to be doomed by the fast-spreading fire.

“Finally the going became too precarious even for such a daring guide as the Indian, and, true to instinct, he swerved away from the blazing tree-tops above, and broke through an almost impassable jungle of undergrowth. This wilderness proved to be merely a strip that separated the winding stream he had followed, from a new trail recently blazed by the Rangers.

“Following this comparatively easy path now Tally rode on behind his cortege until he came to a forester’s blaze. Here he read that he was riding away from the bridge instead of to it. Consequently he drove his cavalcade back, for a mile or more, to a cross-trail he had seen, but which had looked too insignificant to take.

“Reaching this he stopped to read the blaze; thus he found he could climb by the trail and strike into a good hard road where he would pass by the spot where he had left his horse. This he did and after arduous climbing he reached the log-bridge.

“He says he was so glad when he got his old horse back that he actually kissed its nose. There was no sign of the devastating fire at this section, and the horse had not even sniffed the smoke, and was well rested and ready for another jaunt.

“Tally had to use the large flash-light all the way down-trail from the bridge to this Lodge, and he says it was some jaunt! The two outlaws received no pity from him. Whenever they cried and begged to be allowed to rest and have some food from the packs he pronounced stern judgment upon them, and said:

“‘You no care what trouble you mek my frens, who mebbe go hungry when you steal packs, so now you feel same way! Dat goot for you—it mek you solly for my frens!” The scouts laughed at Mr. Gilroy’s mimicry of the Guide.

“Well, girls, you know the rest of the tale: how Tally came across me as I was ambling in at the gate of this Lodge, and how he met with a friend who took charge of the horses and men.”

“Oh, Gilly! Is that all there is to the ending?” demanded Hester, impatiently.

“Didn’t Tally get mixed up in a real honest-to-goodness western fight that needs a sheriff?” asked Julie, scornfully.

“Why, the whole thing is flat , if Tally rode in as tame as all that, Gilly!” added Joan.

“Well, I’m glad, for one, that the dear little burros and Tally weren’t scorched by that awful fire!” sighed Betty.

Every one laughed, as they usually did, when Betty voiced an opinion, and Julie added in disdain: “Pshaw! sounds like a Tenderfoot experience in some camp-meeting resort instead of a wild west frontier adventure!”

“Maybe you-all will be pleased to hear the grand finalé of Tally’s home-coming,” suggested Mr. Burt, quizzically.

“You mean the four suppers he managed to tuck away and then say ‘goot job finish,’” laughed Julie, enjoying that part of the narrative.

“No, Tally ran head-on into Sandy and several men just as he was about to turn in at the Lodge gate,” explained Burt.

“Why Gilly! You never mentioned Sandy in this story,” was Julie’s exclamation.

“Not yet, but I am coming to that part of it now,” chuckled Mr. Gilroy. “You see, Sandy had rushed to Santa Fé to secure a few men he knew in these parts, and that is how he heard of two rich New Yorkers who had their horses stolen while going to a spring for a drink of water. These men had been given a lift in an automobile all the way back to Santa Fé, where they hired a few recommended forest detectives to find their animals. They also posted a reward of five hundred dollars for the return of their horses and the two thieves. Well, as it happened that the men they hired were the ones Sandy needed on my job, and as it seemed to be about the same locality where our burros had been led away, he got all of them to come back with him. They planned to stop at Bishops Lodge until dawn, then ride on up-trail and find the outlaws. Tally saved them that trouble, as the two horses belonged to these New Yorkers, and the two horse-thieves belonged in jail. And there is where Sandy has conducted them, with the New Yorkers to prefer charges against them and spare you scouts the trouble of doing so. Tally got the reward, but he says he won’t keep it. He swears in Indian lingo that it belongs to ‘um-m-m-m, eh-eh, scout!’”

It had been unanimously agreed that all would wait at Bishops Lodge until Sandy got back from Santa Fé, then all would ride to Taos Pueblo together. Therefore Tally was told to stay in bed as long as he liked and not get up for breakfast, but it was not necessary to advise the girls, as they had no idea of going to bed at two o’clock and getting up at dawn, when there would be nowhere to go. Hence every one slept in the morning.

At a very late breakfast it was hastily decided to drive out in an automobile to the Nambe Indian Reservation where Burt could collect such information as might prove to be valuable for his articles in the paper. They could all be back at the Lodge in the afternoon by the time Sandy was expected. The horses and burros would have rested twelve or more hours then, and could resume the trail.

This plan was carried out, and when the party returned to the Lodge they were delighted to find the Ranger had arrived shortly before them.

“Hello, friends!” called Sandy coming out to the large porch. “I know you’re all glad to see me feeling so well and happy.”

The scouts laughed and crowded around him, asking for particulars of the arrest. Also they were eager to know what the New Yorkers did after the outlaws were in jail—and what became of the splendid horses?

“Gee, I’m glad I am rested and had dinner,” retorted Sandy. “All those questions to answer at once.”

“Save yourself, Sandy,” laughed Mrs. Vernon. “Because I’m going to make the girls go up and gather their belongings. Gilly says we will take the trail in half-an-hour and camp out to-night.”

“Of course you will come with us?” said Julie.

“I want to,” returned Sandy, his eyes telling the girl how much he really did want to. “But I must have a word with the Captain alone, before I decide.”

Therefore the Captain stepped aside and heard what the Ranger had to say. After a serious talk the two of them entered the Lodge.

“You girls can scoot to your rooms and get your doo-dabs, can’t you?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

So they went in, but saw nothing of the Captain or Sandy, as they passed through the main hall. Shortly after they had gone to their rooms, Mrs. Vernon and Sandy, with two strange young men of Sandy’s age, came out and spoke to Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy. Hearing the proposition, Mr. Gilroy said:

“As you say, Captain. It’s your party, you know.”

Therefore the scouts discovered upon their return to the entrance of the Lodge that two fine-looking young college graduates had been added to the party. And to their astonishment, and to Tally’s joy, these men owned and rode the two thoroughbred horses which the Indian had found and brought back. They had been well cared for in the stable at the Lodge the previous night, and now were fresh as ever and ready to go on.

Victor Adair, one of the two strangers, was dark, slender and most entertaining, once he became acquainted. His friend and traveling companion Godfrey Chase, was very blond and good-natured, but not as quick-witted as his chum.

“Do we take the trail to Tesuque Creek, thence to the pueblo of Tesuque?” asked Sandy, when all were ready to start.

“You know best, Sandy. We’ll follow,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“All right then, Tesuque Pueblo is not far, and after visiting there we may have time to jog along to Cuyamunque where we can pitch camp for the night,” outlined Sandy.

At Tesuque the scouts found few Spaniards; the citizens mostly were pure-blooded Indians. The natives make strange pottery which is for sale, so Mrs. Vernon purchased many curious animal forms of images, called “gods.” The prehistoric pueblo proved to be interesting, and Burt and Julie found the visit to be worth the trouble; he gathered some splendid copy for his article in his paper, and the scout secured several excellent photographs for her work.

They did not attempt to go farther that night than the fine camp-site at the forks of Tesuque Creek. Tally made every one go to work and, soon, they were settled as if camp had been established for a week.

That night was a merry one around the camp fire. Singing, tale-telling, and star-gazing, to say nothing of the chaff that pleases young folks, made the time fly until Mr. Gilroy said it was time to say good-night.

The following morning the riders resumed the trail and, quite naturally, paired off as best suited them. Sandy rode with Julie, Mr. Gilroy and Betty; Adair and Joan followed; then Hester and Chase. Mrs. Vernon rode with Burt, and Mr. Vernon with Tally.

The trail led through Cuyamunque, before branching to a north-easterly direction to touch at Nambe; the two young men recently added to the scout-party had not seen the old Indian village, so now they visited the ancient ceremonial kiva, and then went up the rocky gorge to see Nambe Falls. Thence they rode by Escondillo, and Julie got several good pictures of the old buildings.

The road now took them through sandstone hills cast in weird shapes. Later they stopped at Sanctuario to visit its quaint chapel, then continued on to Chimayo where Mrs. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy purchased a number of very fine blankets woven on primitive looms by the natives. That night they camped on the Truchas river, where it crossed the trail, and in the morning they resumed trailing in an easterly direction to Trampas then northly to Taos. It was twilight when they reached Ranchos de Taos where rest and a good supper proved to be most welcome.

Mrs. Vernon had had to keep a vigilant eye on the flirtatious young men who fully appreciated four sweet, pretty girls, because she was bound to deliver her young charges heart whole to their mothers. But the scouts had no concern over such fears, and thus enjoyed to the full the companionship of the well-bred college boys.

The Pueblo of Taos, divided by the Taos River, proved to be most interesting, its great walls rising on the river-sides to the height of seven stories, two stories higher than the famous Zuria pueblo.

Julie and her friends took many splendid pictures of this ancient fastness of the Taos Indians: the seven kivas; the adobe wall with is loop-holes which surrounds the village of more than four hundred natives; the ever artistic groups of Indians; and other appealing pictures.

Young Adair and his friend Chase had planned to follow the trail from Taos to Las Vegas, but now they changed their itinerary. Mrs. Vernon understood why, but Betty said innocently: “Maybe they’re afraid to take such a long trail alone, Verny; you see, they are perfectly safe with a party like ours.”

“Well, Betty, I’m not so sure of that!”

“Oh, Verny! you know that not one of us would steal their horses,” exclaimed Betty, shocked at the Captain’s words.

“No, not their horses, Betty, but how about their hearts?

“Verny! What do you mean,” gasped the girl, turning to look at the convulsed faces of her scout chums. At the look on her face they lost all control and burst into laughter. But their very merriment assured Mrs. Vernon that they had no sentimental ideas concerning the young men.

On the ride back to Santa Fé the scout-party followed the Rio Grande River, stopping over night at San Juan and Santa Cruz, and from the latter place riding out to visit the great Puye Ruins. It is located upon the Pajarito plateau, and is said to have 1600 rooms. It is built in terraces similar to those at Taos. The caves and shrines are well preserved and many prehistoric implements have been excavated from the sands of centuries.

The scouts had a very pleasant visit, because the inhabitants were friendly and hospitable. Riding down-trail from Española they camped at San Ildefonso, where the Pojoaque River and the Rio Grande intersect. The remaining twenty-seven miles to Santa Fé they proposed to make the next day. As this ride to Taos, with all the side-trips the scouts had made, was a long though interesting one, the girls were most willing to give the horses a good rest once they arrived in Santa Fé.

“The animals may rest in peace, but we, with the sight-seeing germ, ‘go on forever,’” complained Joan, stretching her lithe young form.

“You do not have to, you know,” retorted Julie, “You may stable yourself for a rest, if you prefer it to ‘going on’ with us.”

“Not much! I don’t want to be left out of any fun,” laughed Joan. “But I sure will be thankful to be left out of that saddle for a few days.”

“Oh, as for that , we’ll all be thankful for that dispensation,” added Mrs. Vernon.

Mr. Gilroy rode up to the girls at this moment and said: “Captain, Sandy tells me that he knows of a first-class little ranch house just on the outskirts of Santa Fé where our party can be accommodated in an unostentatious way. We won’t have to consider dressing for meals or pay attention to style. What say you?”

“I should prefer it to any hotel in the city,” replied Mrs. Vernon. “How about you, girls.”

“Is Sandy and his friends going on to a hotel in the city?” asked Julie.

Mr. Gilroy chuckled. “No, they plan to stop at Belnap Ranch, that’s why they seem so anxious to have you stay there.”

“Then we’ll stop at Belnap Ranch—just to spare our nerves the rack of trying to keep up with tourists at a city hotel,” was Joan’s emphatic reply.

It was with hopes centered upon the fun to be had in the next few days’ visit at Belnap Ranch that the young folks rode forward to the slight elevation from which they could get a good view of Santa Fé. Sandy acted as official information bureau now. He pointed out the Museum, the Old Palace, the Cathedral which was started in 1612, the San Miguel Church, centuries old, and then he directed their attention to the up-to-date churches, hotels and business buildings. Finally they turned and rode on down to Belnap’s Ranch House.

“What narrow streets the city seems to have,” commented Joan.

“Queer, isn’t it, with so much vacant land adjacent to the town?” added Julie.

“How different it will seem from the mountains,” added Hester.

“You have not really seen Santa Fé, my dears,” said Mrs. Vernon. “Wait till you have gotten into the spirit of this ancient city and then judge.”

“The Captain is right. Once you feel the spirit of the ‘City of the Holy Faith,’ and know its history, you will doubtless decide it is the most alluring place you have visited this summer,” said Mr. Vernon.

“While Verny and I go out to assist Tally with the horses and burros, you scouts may as well go about and get a look at things,” suggested Mr. Glroy.

But Mrs. Vernon hastily interpolated: “Not till after every one has washed, and brushed away the dust and stains of travel; then we’ll meet on the piazza and decide what to do.”

“Will the police arrest us for going about the streets in riding breeches?” questioned Betty, fearfully.

“If the Indians wander in and out of town with scarcely enough on to cover their bodies, I doubt if any one will stop to notice our togs,” laughed Joan.

“I shouldn’t advise you to try the main streets and visit the stores, or stop to see the Museum and the Cathedral,” laughed Mr. Vernon.

Then the scouts hurried to the low-ceiled rooms they were to occupy, and were soon ridding themselves of the signs of the long trail.

When they reappeared on the piazza in simple tailor-made suits, they found the young men already there. Sandy was engaged in an interesting conversation with an aged old priest who had stopped at the mission with some newspapers. He smiled divinely at the group of girl scouts and his salute, as he lifted his trembling right hand, seemed like a benediction.

He went indoors, and instantly Julie turned to her companions and whispered: “You-all wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” Before the Captain could reply the girl disappeared behind the swingdoors. A few moments later she returned, followed by the mild-looking old priest.

“Captain, this is Padre Miguel of the little ancient chapel we passed just before coming to the city. He says he would be pleased to tell us many interesting things which he personally remembers since he came to Santa Fé in his youth. Padre, this is my scout Captain, Mrs. Vernon, and these are my friends, Joan, Hester, and my twin-sister, Betty. Scouts this is Padre Miguel,” was Julie’s explanation. “The young men you know already.”

The priest acknowledged the introduction in English, but the Spanish accent was noticeable.

Adair instantly pulled out a wooden chair for the Padre, who very courteously placed it for Mrs. Vernon, and she, smiling, thanked him and sat down. At the same time Sandy had discovered a second chair at the end of the narrow piazza, and now ran to fetch it. The scouts sat on the top step of the entrance from the pathway, and were anxiously waiting for the promised tale. The young men seated themselves Indian fashion, upon the grass at the foot of the steps and seemed more interested in the girls than in the Padre’s words.

“What a wonderful story you could tell, Padre, if you have lived in Santa Fé so many years,” began the Captain, encouragingly.

The wrinkled old priest nodded his head.

“Yes, my children, I can. Many, many miracles I see in this city since I come to be shepherd to my flock in leetle mission seventy year ago. I now eighty-eight, my children, and it’s mos’ time I called home to render account of my work.”

“How wonderful! to watch the growth of this city,” breathed Mrs. Vernon.

“Ye’es; to-day she have t’ree railroads, many mails a day, ’lectric lights an’ telephones, with plenty fine improvement, but then, ah!” the Padre’s tone was significant.

“The Old Palace—that long, one-story building of Spanish-Moorish architecture at the Plaza—tell many story if its walls could spik. You might hear all about our Spanish Warriors of the olden times—so far back as when the pueblo people use the stone meal-bins and corn caves still to be seen there, and lived on that same place long before the Spanish Conquerors came in 1605 to use the site for their own fort.

“So lately as 1912 when Santa Fé say it must cut through some arch and change inside to make more room, they fine conical fireplaces such like you see in prehistoric caves in New Mexico—mebbe some Indian t’ousand years back use dis cave dwelling.

“But Santa Fé not like ’Merican city, and she never will be, ’cause she child of Old Spain adopted by United States. She not used to ’Merican ways, so she keep Spanish customs.”

“We haven’t visited your city yet, Padre, but I can judge from the general view we had, and from this unique mission ranch, that we shall be intensely interested in all we see and hear at Santa Fé,” remarked the Captain.

“That old Governor Palace see many tragedy, many melodrama acted—many by savages, many by Mexican rulers, such tales I could tell—ah!” The Padre sighed and crossed himself devoutly.

“One tale what mek gr-rand play for history picture, all about Spanish lady who have seester what marry officer of Viceroy. Thees officer no good. He beat wife, he take all her gold what is dower, he kill her with his brutal way. Then seester come to Old Palace, demand justice, but Viceroy he laugh. What nex’? Do lady sit an’ cry? No, No ! she get horse, tek her money, ride all long trail to Mexico City and tell big men of King. Then she mek justice come to Santa Fé, and every one feel better for leetle time.

“Oh, ye’es! Many, many such tragedy, many drama, what go on in Old Palace where history make the West,” repeated the Padre, his weak black eyes gazing at the famous old building which was just visible beyond the houses in the foreground.

“You know, signoras, our old Santa Fé trail one of mos’ famous in world history. Picture, if you please, the Fonda where American caravans come to exchange goods. Near, too near, the Fonda stand the customs and jail building. Walls in those days were build five to six feet through of solid adobe. Walls then have to be refuge for men. In the prison wall you go see bullet holes, where the gun what shoot at prisoner not kill him. The man who have charge of Fonda Exchange, he run everything. If he say to trader ‘$100 duty,’ then trader pay, or go to jail nex’ door. Mebbe he come out some day, mebbe he get bullet in cell—in brain cell,” laughed the toothless old Padre, showing he appreciated a sense of humor.

“You see, Signoras, he mus’ alius pay duty. Why not? If he no pay, he go to prison an’ somebody tak all his goods for cost of storage. Mebbe he never come out! So he pay—see?” the Padre shrugged his shoulders, and the scouts saw only too well.

“Can you shut your eyes, Signoras, as I can, and see a caravan topping yon ridge. I see white-tented wagons with great heavy wheels, drawn by yokes of oxen—five, six yokes hitch tandem, with extra mule-teams tie behind wagon to help out in need. I hear driver swear and shout, ‘stretch out there!’—then he lash a bull-whip what reach first yoke and all along backs of yokes behind leader, like a serpent covering slimy trail to hole in groun’. Every caravan have scout out-riders and a Capitaine what command; and Capitaine have twoscore wagons to look after. That trip take forty-fifty days to mak over desert and dune. It were no fun to trek across Indian land those days, where Ute Warriors, or Comanche savages, lay wait to attack and scalp men, then steal beasts and burdens—Ye’es, I see it all!” Even so, the scouts, too, saw the mirage which the Padre painted in such telling words.

“I can see the Old Palace when the grandees have a ball, or a reception. Such costumes I never see in Madrid, or Granada, or other cities of Spain. I see them promenade in silks, and velvets, and bejeweled from crown to ankle. I have seen all such drop to their knees when I have ring vesper bell. All, all, are gone long ago, yet Padre Miguel remains.”

The Padre sat humped in his chair, his thin hands clasped laxly between his knees. The scouts were afraid to speak lest they break the spell woven by the old man. Finally the priest sighed, then smiled and looked up.

“You have viseet the pueblo cities of Jemez and Pecos and Taos—yess!” asked he of Mrs. Vernon.

“No, Padre, only Pecos Cañon, and up to Taos Mountain,” returned the Captain.

“Ha! you must sure see Jemez, my fren’s. Such wise men have these Pueblo Indians! No knave there, but hones’, fine rulers. Now some men what play politics, he try mek all pueblo dwellers bankrupt so they move out and leave claims to schemers who want such land for money—ah, ye’es—Padre Miguel know how money make demon of white man!”

“We have a young Ranger in our party who is here with a man from Chicago—they are about to investigate the bare facts of the situation regarding this Bursum Bill,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.

“Ye’es! I like to meet him, to tell him much I know ’bout such business,” said the priest, eagerly. “’Mericans must not let such work go on, or the day will come when the land about to be stolen from the Indians will be haunted even as Isleta is—it is protected in times of danger by the holy friar. You hear of him?” said the priest

“No, what is it, Padre?” returned Mrs. Vernon.

“Every fife-ten year the friar come back to warn his peepul what best to do. Sometimes the river floods coming bad, and always he warn his flock in time for them to escape. When we tell unbelievers this they laugh. However, a number of ’Mericans get permit a few years back, and dig up grave where holy father’s body rest. They find the heavy log coffin and friar’s earth-body jus’ so good as when his spirit leave it. All I say is truth, ’cause I am Padre here, and cannot mistell you this.”

Further reminiscences were impossible, because a number of men were seen coming up the foot-path to the piazza.

“Well, scouts, how did you pass the hour I left you to your resources?” called the hearty voice of Mr. Gilroy, as he approached.

“We never thought of you once,” laughed Joan.

“That shows how much we missed you,” added Julie.

“If I was a fine young man in green uniform I suppose I’d have all the girls sighing for me,” retorted Mr. Gilroy.

That evening, after supper, Sanderson and Burt devoted their time and attention to Padre Miguel and the important information about the Pueblos which he gave them. The scouts gathered around and listened for a time, then, finding that Adair and Chase were equally interested in the Padre’s tales, they said good-night and went to bed.

“You know, Gilly,” said Mr. Vernon, in an undertone that night, “I think we’ll let the horses eat their heads off here, where the fodder is the cheapest thing we can buy, while we hire a touring-car to visit the places about Santa Fé. We’ll really save money, and in the end, give us more time to see the really wonderful places when we get to them, instead of using the time on the road if we use horses,” said Mr. Vernon.

“Do you know, Verny, I was thinking the same thing to-day, when I saw the numerous cars go through the city on the way to points of interest in New Mexico. I was half wishing we had left the horses out of the plan for this summer and had chosen the automobile instead,” remarked Mr. Gilroy.

“Don’t regret having decided on horses, Gilly; we can never go in a car where the four sure feet of mountain-climbing horses can carry us,” declared Mr. Vernon, emphatically. “But now, I really believe we can do better by using a machine to cover these long trips, such as forty to sixty miles a day. In this way we need not miss a single thing around Santa Fé, and still be on hand in order to meet the other girl scouts the first of August.”

“That is, if they are allowed to come out here,” added Mr. Gilroy, doubtfully.

“I’m sure of their joining us later. I wrote letters to their fathers and expressed myself quite plainly about the way their daughters were being deprived of traveling and seeing what most young ladies would give their hats to see. But I haven’t mentioned my letters to the Missus, or the girls here, understand?”

Mr. Gilroy chuckled. Yes, he understood perfectly!

“Well, I’ll authorize you to go hunt up two large enough cars early to-morrow morning, to accommodate our party. Then we can compare notes in a few days, and see if we cover the field better than with horses,” agreed Mr. Gilroy.

“All right—done!” exclaimed Mr. Vernon, as they got up and started for their respective rooms to sleep.

At breakfast the following morning, the plan of securing two automobiles to drive to the points of interest within a radius of Santa Fé was heartily approved by every one in the party.

“Let me do the bargaining for you,” said the Ranger. “Every one in the town knows me by sight, and I am sure I will be able to secure better rates.”

“All right,” agreed Mr. Gilroy; “glad to get rid of the trouble.”

“We’ll go with you, Sandy,” offered Burt, including Adair and Chase in his glance.

For a few hours that morning, therefore, the scouts were left to amuse themselves. Sandy had promised to get back with the cars, if they should find any, before noon. The host of the ranch house had promised to look after the horses and burros whenever the owners should be absent. Fodder was cheap and the weather was fine, consequently there was no reason why the animals should not fare well.

While the young men were absent on their search for two comfortable cars the two elder men with the scouts were planning various excursions to the points of interest around Santa Fé. One of these excursions would follow the trail past Buckman, taking in the Water and Ancho Cañons, and so on to the Bandelier National Monument. On this route they would continue to the Frijoles Cañon, thence to the Painted Cave, and further down the trail visit Cañon de Cochita; the next point of interest would be a visit to the San Felipe Indian Reservation, and then trail eastward to the Tiffany Turquoise Mines and the San Marquis Pueblo Ruins.

Within an hour after leaving the ranch house, Sandy and his friends returned in two comfortable touring cars. The camping outfits were stowed away, and a supply of food packed in hampers; then having said good-by to the host, the scout-party got into the two cars and drove away. Sandy acted as chauffeur in the car where Julie, Hester, Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Chase were seated. Tally drove the car in which were the Captain and Mr. Vernon, Betty and Joan, Mr. Burt and Mr. Adair. The latter car being a seven passenger model, while the former was a five passenger car.

The distance to the Jemez Forests was about twenty miles over sandy roads. The trail led across the Rio Grande and then climbed up and up. Finally it became apparent that, later, the autos would have to be parked if the scouts wished to visit the “City of the Dead” as they had outlined, so the cars stopped while all planned.

“Now what? Walk up that awful trail and haul the kitchen on our backs?” cried Julie, frowning up at the great layers of shelf which seemed to reach to the heavens.

“No,” giggled Joan, “we’ll leave the ‘kitchen sink’ in the car, but take everything else.”

“We can drive up much farther than this,” said Mr. Vernon. “The trail winds and winds and at last brings us to the mesa where we will lunch. There we will leave Tally to hunt up a suitable cave for his afternoon siesta, while we climb to the sky.”

Finally the cars came out upon a high mesa—perhaps, thousand of acres of park, all shaded by yellow pine.

Upon this wonderful tableland the scouts had lunch and then went on to Frijoles Cañon. When, finally, they came to the end of a road—they had arrived!

After a time the visitors sighed, and, having broken the spell of awe, the scouts found their tongues.

“Gracious! what a jumping-off place,” exclaimed Julie, as she gazed at the two fearful precipices, the sides all pierced with windows and arched doorways and projecting balconies.

These dwellings, tier upon tier of them, were reached by ladders, and some by steps cut in the stone. It was once a populous city with the main street over twelve miles long.

“Think of all the citizens living in this queer place!” exclaimed the Captain. “Where do you suppose they went after they left here.”

“That’s the question every one asks, and no one has yet answered,” returned Mr. Gilroy. “But come, let’s go down and visit.”

The scouts visited the sacred chamber where the ancients worshiped the god of fire and the serpent-guardian of the water-springs. They took snapshots of the stone circle which the great colony used for its dances. They went in cave after cave, each one having a new interest to visitors, and coming out again, wondered at the marvelous view forever spread out before the front doors of these cliff dwellers of ancient days.

That day the scouts found several flowers which have not been classified by botanists. They saw the blood-red cactus that grows high up on the black rocks; the beautiful mountain pink; the dwarfed field daisy; and others without names, although they were gathered to be pressed for use in the girls’ books. It was late that night when the party motored into Santa Fé, but it was a satisfied party.

A week of visiting such marvelous places as these girls never dreamed were on earth passed quickly. They had gone to different prominent pueblos within easy motoring distance of Santa Fé; they had visited the Tiffany Turquoise Mine; they wondered at the old Bonanza; they hunted for bits of gold in the Ortiz placers; and they collected specimen of flowers, minerals, insects and other curios for their scout files at home. Then they took two days to go to the ancient Aztec City, to Chaco Cañon, and other pueblo ruins in San Juan county.

“The last trip of all, I have kept as the best,” remarked Mr. Gilroy at the end of the week’s rental of the automobiles. “But we will leave Santa Fé behind us when we start out on this jaunt to the west: I am speaking of a visit to the Enchanted Mesa, to Laguna and Acoma.”

“It’s going to be no joke to reach Acoma, Gilly,” said Mr. Vernon, “but we have plenty of time, and that is one asset in seeing these strange places.”

“When do we start from here, Gilly?” asked Joan, eagerly.

“Well, that depends. I expected to meet a few friends in Santa Fé to-morrow, and I shall have to wait for them. They should have been here to-day, but I hear they were delayed in Denver by one of the party who had important business to attend to in that city. To-morrow they will surely meet me, then I shall be free to go west with you.”

Not one of the scouts suspected who the friends might be, so they took it for granted that Gilly had business men to meet; but they planned with Mrs. Vernon what to do in the morning, while Mr. Gilroy met his friends from Denver.

To the delight of the girls, the four young men and Mr. Vernon were at breakfast in the morning, when they entered the dining-room. The Ranger instantly sprang up and welcomed the party.

“I suppose you are all on the qui vive this morning, eh?” asked Mr. Burt, smilingly.

Mrs. Vernon hurriedly endeavored to signal him to keep the secret, but the newspaper man did not see.

“We’re trying to kill a morning with nothing to do,” laughed Julie.

“Oh! then you are not going to the station to meet the train that will bring your chums?” was Mr. Burt’s surprised query.

“To meet whom?” demanded the scouts.

Mr. Burt glanced from one to the other, and finally met the glance from Mr. Vernon. Too late, he realized that the plan had been to take these four scouts by surprise.

Julie laughed uproariously, then tried to say: “Isn’t it always thus when so many know of the surprise party? There’s bound to be one who lets the cat out of the bag.”

By this time the other girls began to realize what it all meant and then there was a great hullabaloo.

“Hurry now, and we will go after Gilly to accompany him to the station,” laughed Mrs. Vernon. No need for such advice, however, as the scouts were well-nigh choking themselves in their haste to eat and be off.

As the time on the automobiles would not expire till one o’clock that day, the scouts inveigled the men to drive them to the railroad station. Such a scene when the train came in! Anne, Judith and Amy jumped off into outstretched arms, and were welcomed by wagging tongues all talking and questioning at once. No one heard or understood a word any one else was saying, but that made no difference to these scouts!

Then the newcomers had to tell in detail how it was possible to persuade Mrs. Ward to let Amy leave home, and many a merry peal of laughter echoed in the ancient streets of Santa Fé as the scouts, all wedged into the automobile, were driven out to the little hotel.

“To tell the truth, it was Julie’s graphic articles in the Elmertown Record that changed Mrs. Ward’s opinion of the west. Every one said it was so wonderful for the girls to have such an opportunity that she felt ashamed of herself,” explained Anne Bailey.

Then the secret of Julie’s journalism came out and her friends applauded loudly when they heard of her success. After a good dinner, shortly before noon, Tally led the horses to the piazza, and Mr. Gilroy said it was time to be off on the trail to the westward. Adair and Chase expected to ride the trail to Las Vegas, but changed their minds when they heard Sandy and Burt plan.

“How about horses for the three girls,” asked Joan, as they all started for the door.

“All ready! Tally had orders long ago, and they arrived this morning,” said Mr. Vernon.

To the great satisfaction of the scouts it was now learned that the four young men had decided to ride with them through the marvelous country west of Santa Fé, where the Zuñi Indians and all the remarkable pueblos would be found.

The entire party rode along the Rio Grande trail as far as Albuquerque, camping in the wayside woods, or stopping at the towns on the way, as best suited their inclinations.

Albuquerque proved to be just the opposite of Santa Fé. There the very air seemed filled with mysterious spirits of the ancients; here in Albuquerque, with its strictly up-to-date activities, the girls felt as though they were back east. The buildings of the University of New Mexico, where Sanderson had been graduated that year, situated upon a plateau more than two hundred feet above the city, was one of the places to be visited by the tourists. The view from that height is beautiful, and the impressions of the city when seen from here, is lasting.

The scouts stopped at the Alvarado Hotel, a luxurious place with every modern convenience, though its style of architecture is Old Spanish Mission. From its verandas the girls could see the peaks of New Mexico as they sent up their snowy tips to the azure sky.

Being the season when tourists crowded the city, the scouts found things very lively with dances and plays and drives day and night. They went to the Musee, to the fashionable restaurants, and forgot they were in the land of the pueblos.

“Lucky we each packed a decent gown for such an occasion,” remarked Julie, as they all sat in the brilliant dining-room of the Alvarado and watched the well-dressed guests, some of whom were dancing to the music of the palm-screened orchestra.

During the trailing from Santa Fé, Sandy had devoted so much time to the Pueblo matter and Burt’s articles that Julie believed him to have been merely flirting with her before this, so now she snubbed him. But the Ranger never thought of flirting. He was genuinely attracted by the pretty, intelligent scout. With him, however, duty came before pleasure, and he had considered it his duty to attend to the various missions upon which he had been sent in company with Burt. Hence he had not indulged his fancy as he would have liked. Now that he had accomplished most of the work of escorting the newspaper man to the pueblos and assisting him in getting facts first-hand from the Indian chiefs, he relaxed the tension as he pictured the pleasure before him. He never dreamed that a girl might become piqued at being left without a word or glance from him, while he was occupied with getting statistics. But he was to learn that feminine demands are not to be ignored if the admirer wishes to be popular.

To the three scouts who had recently arrived, everything was new and novel, and the Ranger, to them, seemed very handsome and agreeable. They therefore chided Julie for her manner towards him, because it was plainly to be seen that he cared nothing for any one in the party but her.

“Go entertain him yourself, why don’t you?” she would retort. “I’m busy getting points on journalism from Mr. Burt.”

But this was merely an excuse, as Mr. Burt had been engaged with Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, telling them of his hopes in securing justice for the Indians.

It was not until the party rode into Albuquerque that Sandy said with a sigh: “Well, my holiday ends here; I’ve got to go back to Panchuelo in a few days.”

“Oh, really! I thought you were going to accompany Burt to Acoma,” said Mrs. Vernon.

“No, he won’t need me there, and all the big pueblos of New Mexico have been visited. I wish I could go with you to Acoma, however, Captain. You know, it is said that one can make any good wish when first standing at the Enchanted Mesa, and it will instantly come to pass.”

“What would you wish, Sandy?” asked Joan, mischievously. “Maybe I can act as proxy for you.”

“Well, you might try it,” returned the Ranger, daringly. “I wish that a coveted friend might thaw somewhat, from the icy attitude that she maintains towards me, before I have to say good-by. There are many important matters I would discuss with this friend, but one has no inspiration when the chill is so intense as to stop my circulation.”

“That’s a good wish and I’m sure it will be answered. Anyway I promise you I shall ask it of the guardian spirits of the Mesa,” giggled Joan.

“Lots of good such a wish will do Sandy if he leaves us at Albuquerque,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“We won’t get to the Enchanted Mesa till after we have said good-by to the Ranger,” added Mrs. Vernon.

In spite of such innuendoes, Julie failed to “thaw” until the very last night of Sandy’s stay in Albuquerque. It happened that there was to be a hop at the hotel that evening, and the seven scouts had frizzed and frilled for the occasion; consequently they appeared on the scene looking very fresh and attractive—so thought several young college men who had been smoking cigarettes and talking to the Ranger. Naturally he introduced the scouts to his companions and a most enjoyable evening followed.

If a tenderfoot in the East fancies New Mexico has a climate that is hot enough to sizzle bacon on a rock, or induce a tourist to go to bed at night without sheets or blanket to cover him, that one will have another guess coming. In all the time the scouts had been in New Mexico they had not felt any too warm, even at noon-day, in their woolen shirts and khaki breeches. Now, at the hotel dance, they were decidedly cool in their light dinner gowns, and evening scarfs.

As the young people, chaperoned by the Captain, moved towards the ball-room, Sandy managed to get beside Julie and ask: “Are you not feeling cool without a wrap?”

“I’m so icy that sensation is no longer one of my five senses,” returned she, quickly.

“Perhaps you will thaw out after a dance with me,” suggested Sandy, giving her a look that pleased her mightily—a look of admiration.

“I never thought dancing was part of a Ranger’s duty,” remarked she, casually.

“Oh, but it is! When we are supposed to entertain friends—such as we now are.”

“Who said so? I should say we were mere acquaintances, here to-day, gone to-morrow.”

“Not so, Miss Julie! If you knew me better you’d know that I do not believe in to-morrows. I claim the nows of to-days.”

“ Now what can you really claim?” demanded Julie, giving him a quick glance.

The Ranger caught it and smiled. The other members in the group had joined Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, who were waiting at the door of the room, and now were pairing off for the dance. As Julie and her escort entered the room, the Ranger answered her last question very decidedly.

“You want to know what I claim now ?—this”—and he swung her away into the whirl of dancers without as much as asking her would she be pleased.

To Julie’s amazement this partner could dance divinely. She was considered the most graceful dancer in Elmertown, and many times she had contributed for charity’s sake, at bazaars, at pageants, etcetera, the classical Greek and Oriental dances she could do so well. Therefore she considered herself a good judge of partners.

The two had circled the room and both were enjoying themselves immensely, when Sandy said in a low tone: “Are you thawing?”

Julie could not control the ripple of laughter, because she knew that he knew her seeming arrogancy was mere pretense. She was never patterned for a queen, nor for a charmer that spurned her idolators with haughty insolence.

The music ceased, but the joyous dancers encored to such a degree that the orchestra responded. During the interval in the dance Sandy smiled at Julie, and said: “It will not be necessary for Miss Joan to make that wish as my proxy at the Enchanted Mesa. The iceberg is no more.”

Julie tried to pout, but her spirits were too effervescent, and it ended in a laugh, as the Ranger swung her away again in the second half of the dance.

“Think I’ll stop for breath!” gasped Julie, as they came opposite an inviting balcony reached by palm-bowered French windows.

Sandy caught her thought and instantly whirled her over to the alluring tête-à-tête. As fate had it that evening the balcony was unoccupied, so the Ranger seated Julie in a luxurious wicker chair and took the other vacant chair beside her.

“Oh, what a marvelous scene!” exclaimed the scout, gazing at the sea-blue heavens where the brilliant stars twinkled like signal-lights on unseen vessels riding at anchor in the clear transparency of the heaven. All about she could see the ghostlike peaks that seemed to encircle the city, and back of them other peaks, and then back of these still others, till night swallowed the dim outlines of the Santa Fé Range, the Pecos, the Sangre de Cristo, and other mountains.

Sandy was silent. He sat and stared at the distant mountains and pondered. He wished to ask a favor of his companion, but he was not sure how it would be received.

“Are you trying to see what your friend Oliver is doing up on Grass Peak?” asked Julie, quizzically, as she waited overlong for the Ranger to speak.

“I was visualizing myself up there in the cabin after Oliver brings up the mail-pouch. I will enjoy reading letters, next to being with Mr. Gilroy’s party.”

“Oh! then I shall see that both the men write you picture post-cards as we travel westward,” suggested Julie.

“I don’t care about that , but I do care about having you write: will you?”

“Post-cards? Why, I will, if no one else has time,” teased Julie.

“You know very well what I mean. Our time is so short, can’t you be serious just for a moment? I want you to promise to write letters to me—tell me what you are doing, where you are going, whom you are seeing! I want to feel that I am with you when you go through that wonderful Canyon in Arizona, when you go down Bright Angel, and when you camp in the bed of the Colorado River. Will you invite me to be with you by sharing your experiences in a letter?”

Julie had had many boyish admirers in Elmertown. After the Adirondack Camp the Boy Scouts of Grey Fox wrote frequently, and she answered their letters. She was too pretty and vivacious a girl to remain in the background of any society, hence she enjoyed light-hearted flirtations, and only last winter a few of her sister May’s callers took notice of her and included her in any party or outing. But this was a very different kind of a man from the boys she knew. While she was highly flattered, she was not quite certain whether she ought to encourage his apparent tendency to become attached to her. Several moments passed in utter silence while she thought. Sandy understood and waited.

Julie sighed in uncertainty and glanced at the young man who sat and awaited her answer. She saw how eager he seemed, and she thought of the life he lived with a much older man all alone on that mountain-top. Then she had a bright idea.

“I’ll send you the copies of the Elmertown Record ! There you can read in print exactly what we are doing, eh?”

“No! I’ll have no cold print. I want personal letters in your hand-writing, or nothing!” He was certainly getting to speak with authority, was Julie’s thought. Then she giggled as she heard, in mind, Joan’s comment.

“Regular cave-man manner, Jule!”

“You’re going to say yes—I know you are,” exulted Sandy.

“Then you know more about it than I do. But I promise to think it over. You might give me your post office address, because, should I decide to send you a word, now and then, I’ll have it on hand.”

The Ranger caught Julie’s hand in his pleasure, and his eyes beamed thrillingly. The situation was becoming very romantic, thought Julie, when, quite unexpectedly, Mrs. Vernon stepped out upon the balcony.

“Oh, here you are!” said she, glancing quickly from one to the other. “Mr. Gilroy is waiting to dance with you, Julie, and the girls are deeply offended because Sandy has not asked one of them to dance. Shall we go in and join the others?”

They had to follow, but Julie sent one longing glance over her shoulder at the far-off glimmer that might be Panchuelo; while the Ranger leaned over and whispered: “Here’s my post office address—Julie, dear!”

The next day Sandy and the two New Yorkers said lingering farewells and rode away. Burt would go with the scouts as far as Gallup. He wished to visit the Zuñi Reservation in the extreme western section of Valencia County, therefore it would be much pleasanter to travel there with such an ideal party as this of Mr. Gilroy’s.

Immediately following the Ranger’s departure the scout-party rode away from Albuquerque and struck the trail leading to Laguna. But the wind blew such a gale of dust that day that riding was anything rather than pleasure. It would have been a simple matter for the tourists to take the train to Laguna, but that was too usual. Perhaps they silently regretted this decision long before they saw the old pueblo town of Laguna. The railroad passes through the lower street—“strata”—but the scouts rode up to the city after having viewed it from afar. Thus its piled-up tiers of streets, like a conical layer cake, seemed more interesting to them than it does to one who merely goes “through” on a train.

After having spent several days at the luxurious hotel in Albuquerque, and then, as a contrast, camping at night and for three meals each day on the dusty trail to Laguna, the scouts were relieved to find a splendid camp-site back of the town, where they would have privacy and comfort. The Denver gentleman who had welcomed them as they rode into Laguna that afternoon nodded in the direction of a tiny stream running through a crevice of the rock, and at a short distance from the site a good pasturage for the animals.

“You say you will ride to Acoma to-morrow, Mr. Gilroy?” said Mr. Balmore, wonderingly.

“Yes; it is really not more than twenty miles there, is it?”

“Not that far, to be exact,” returned Mr. Balmore, “but your horses have had a tough trail and arduous going from Albuquerque, and I should advise your hiring a couple of teams and driving there. That will give your animals a whole day in which to rest and freshen up again.”

“We had planned to take the train from here to Gallup—not to ride the trail,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

“From observation merely I should say that the horses would need several days’ rest to be able to give you good service in the Navajo Land. Your man could remain with them for the day, and the drivers on the wagons can act as guides and camp-cooks.”

“Gilly, Mr. Balmore is right. We will go up in wagons. Besides, I think it will be more fun for the girls. We need a change from being so much in the saddle,” said Mrs. Vernon.

“The Captain’s wishes are law with us, Mr. Balmore,” chuckled Mr. Gilroy. “I’ll go down with you and arrange for the two wagons. Want to come, Vernon?”

Mr. Vernon had nothing to do and he readily agreed to accompany the two men into Laguna. The teams and their drivers were engaged, and then Mr. Balmore went with his companions to see that they were provided with such food-stuffs as would taste delicious up on the great pueblo of Acoma.

Early the next morning the scouts hurried to the rendezvous where the teams were to be. Tally watched them go, dissatisfaction with the arrangement that left him behind plainly expressed on his face.

“How wonderful that sunrise is in this atmosphere!” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, as they all stood for a moment after reaching the verge of the bluff where the camp was pitched, and breathed in the wonderful air and gloried in the view.

“The sky is really and truly a turquoise blue, Verny, isn’t it?” asked Betty.

“Yes, I have never seen anything like it excepting the coloring of sky and water at Naples, and the coast towns of eastern Italy.”

“Verny, we simply must get some more of the marvelous wild flowers that are to be found here, to add to our collection,” declared Judith Blake, who was half-wild over everything she saw in the west.

“If we collect any more specimens of the cactus, our folks back home will begin to think we plan to launch some sort of Indian patent medicine,” laughed Julie.

“We wouldn’t be believed by the school children in Elmertown if we told them that the western deserts of New Mexico and Arizona are not the broiling waste of sand they picture to themselves,” said Amy Ward.

“I wrote Edith all about it,” added the elder sister, Judith, “and told her how very different it is from what mother feared. If only Edie could have come!”

Further regrets were forgotten now, however, as the scouts came to the meeting-place where they found the teams awaiting them. Then there was merry laughter and much advice as the girls got in and settled themselves in the wagons. Finally the drivers cracked their whips, and started their four-in-hands on the trip.

As such a party was an occasion in Laguna many of the natives were up to watch the four-in-hands and the joyous scouts start. Women with their babies in bright-hued shawls slung across their backs, and men with bronzed bodies wearing only the hip-cloth, and children with no clothes whatever, stood solemnly watching till the entire party was out of sight. But Julie had managed to perpetuate the scene by snapshotting the picturesque group on a film in her camera.

The sun now rose higher, touching the wild poppies, the gorgeous globe cactus, even the blue forget-me-nots with such ardent love that it was small wonder these desert blooms glowed with color as no other wild-flowers can produce.

“Oh, look. See that picture made by the sheep going down to drink,” called Julie, who was in the first wagon. “Just like pictures in the Bible.”

The tourists had left Laguna, where the sun was touching the twin-towers of the church on the crest of the hill as they had their last glimpse of it, and had been going steadily up the trail for some time before Julie spoke.

The comparison was true. Far off near an adobe dwelling one could see an oriental female form with a water-jar upon her head; glimpse the bit of brilliant color produced by the red shawl; see the sandy stretches of sandy mesa, dotted with flaring blossoms; the water-hole to which the flock was now trending; the lavender-tinted hills encircling this great plain; the purpled mountains rising in protection of its foot-hills; and then, away off on the distant sky-line, the snow-capped peaks gleaming in rainbow tints as the light reflected and shimmered on their dazzling, snowy heads.

“Oh, I feel like crying!” half-sobbed Amy Ward, the effects of the scene exalting her soul.

The other girls were silent for a time. The drivers, to whom this country was an everyday matter, never looked up but drove on as if they were sticks of wood.

At a sudden turn in the trail the tourists saw just ahead that they would have to go up a forbidding mountain. Mr. Gilroy turned to Mr. Vernon, who was with him in the second wagon, and frowned.

“No wonder Balmore advised us to rest our horses and keep them fresh for the Desert and Petrified Forests,” exclaimed he, glancing up at the towering heights before them.

Then suddenly, the great sides of the mountain seemed to open and they were entering a vast cut. Directly through this cleft one could see a marvelous valley; a valley which was encircled by protecting hills and distant peaks, just as the mesa and the pictured scene Julie had pointed out before the great mountain had so unexpectedly shut off their view. Now, presto! the mountain was gone!

Mr. Vernon stared at Mr. Gilroy in blank amazement, and Mr. Gilroy seemed dazed. The girls rubbed their eyes. From the first wagon, where Mr. Burt and the Captain supervised the scouts, a chorus rose. A chorus of “oh” and “ah,” then the familiar sound of Julie’s excited treble.

“Gilly! Gilly! the guide says that that was a mirage. Didn’t you think we were climbing a great mountain?”

“Well, sir! that’s what it was,” sighed Mr. Gilroy, as the tension snapped and they all grinned foolishly.

“By the Great-horned Spoon!” ejaculated Mr. Vernon, his jaw dropping as he realized that the mountain with its ghostlike cleft that ushered them through its blank walls was nothing .

“Vernon, sometimes I wonder if all our earthly problems and sorrows are really anything more than mirages,” said Mr. Gilroy, as the wagon bumped over a rut and brought him to a sense of where they were at the moment.

Mr. Vernon laughed. “At least that rut was not a mirage, eh, Joan?”

The sun rose higher, its rays seeming to start mirages in the lilac-tinted haze which enveloped the plains and peaks. Quite often, now, one or another in the party would call out to draw attention to a beautiful lake engirdled by pine groves; to a valley where the flocks or herds pastured; to a barren mountain where the erosions gave view to dark masses of rock and waste. Then, in a flash, all this would vanish, and again the two wagons would be squeaking and rattling up the trail to Acoma.

“No wonder it is called the Enchanted Mesa!” cried Julie. “The whole land here is bewitched.”

“Julie, why don’t you get a picture of one of these mirages?” asked Amy Ward, to whom the west was an unexplored land of possibilities—even its mirages might turn out to be genuine places!

“How can you photograph air and light?” laughed Julie, from her vast experiences of the past season in the Rockies.

“It’s a shame that one can’t get it on a plate,” added Judith.

“It is served on a plate,” remarked Mr. Burt, jokingly. “On the sensitive plate of the vision, and that prints it permanently on our memories.”

The scouts saw the ancient pueblo of Acoma perched up on its towering wall of over four hundred feet in height, long before they actually had arrived. As they came nearer, the tourists saw tiny windows, like the row of portholes on a vessel, lining the top of the rock. Still nearer, the girls could see, here and there, heads sticking out of these windows. The teams were a curiosity to the natives.

The drivers halted their horses and the scouts jumped down, glad to stretch their limbs.

“First we’ll have a light luncheon of sandwiches and the milk which I brought in our large thermos bottles,” said Mrs. Vernon, as she had the men unpack the hamper.

Having enjoyed the “bite” they started up the sandy climb to the pueblo. This climb to the natives is nothing more than a city block on a good pavement means to Tenderfeet. But the climb up, and up , and UP, to the scouts, was like going up the side of the Woolworth Building.

Finally, however, they reached the top of the stone steps, and the sandy reaches, and the high places, where shaky ladders have to be used. Once up, the tourists gazed around in interest at the dwellings, tier upon tier, and each tier reached by means of movable ladders.

“No chance for burglaries in those upper flats, if the tenant pulls the ladder up after him,” laughed Mr. Burt.

The entire village was built upon a solid rock. There were pools of clear spring water, enough to supply all the inhabitants and their domestic animals. There were plenty of dogs, and cats, and chickens wandering about on the shelf-like dooryards of the flats, and of these Julie got a fine picture of a hen and her brood clucking about up on the fourth tier of a dwelling.

“What she can find to eat after scratching in that bare adobe is a caution to me!” cried Joan, watching the energetic ambition of the mother-hen.

After visiting the church in Acoma, which took forty years to build, Julie said: “No wonder! with walls ten feet thick.”

Having seen everything and taken photographs of the Enchanted Mesa from every point of view, as well as of the pueblo of Acoma, the scouts voted to return to Laguna. It would be dark long before they could expect to reach camp, but the road was excellent throughout the trip and there was no danger in following it even at night. Perhaps that return trip under the dazzling brightness of the stars, and the shooting of meteors across the heavens, was as enjoyable to the scouts as the eager watching for mirages on the way up in the morning.

However, there were no protests when they had reached camp and the Captain said: “Now, all off to bed at once!”

The following morning, shortly after sun-up, the scouts held a council meeting—nothing formal that would exclude Mr. Burt, but a conference on ways and means, especially ways.

“I approve of your taking the train from here to Gallup and then trail into the Zuñi Reservation, and, perhaps, go into the Gila River country with me,” said Mr. Burt.

“No, and we’ll explain why,” said Mrs. Vernon. “We must now limit our visit in Arizona to one month. In that time we must trail over the Painted Desert in Navajo Land, visit the Petrified Forests, do the Grand Cañon, and come out at the Hualapai Indian Reservation. We expect to take the train to Prescott Junction and there change to the Prescott and Central Arizona railroad in order to connect with the Southern Pacific trains later on. But we hope to secure stop-over privileges on the tickets to enable us to visit the Salt River Indian as well as the Gila Indian Reservations, then we plan to follow the Apache Trail and visit Roosevelt Dam, thence go down to Tucson and so home.”

“But why such a criss-cross trip to get back to the East? Why not go on the short route, the same as when you came out?” wondered the newspaper man.

“Because we wish to take the Sunset Route as far as Houston, Texas, and there go to Galveston, where we hope to get a steamer to New York. It would be an ideal ending of an ideal summer trail.”

“Would it! Well, I should say,” declared Mr. Burt, emphatically. “Only wish I was a Girl Scout of Dandelion Troop.”

The scout-party preferred a local train from Laguna to Gallup, as that would give them more time to see the small towns they passed through, as well as the San Mateo and Zuñi Mountains.

At the last moment, Mr. Burt decided to remain on the train with them and stop at Gallup. From there the scouts would go northwest into Arizona, and he would go south to the Zuñi Indian Reservation.

It was the conductor on the train, who was a very sociable man, who advised the scouts to be sure and visit the Cañon de Chelly and the White House, which is a prehistoric dwelling carved in the rock walls high above the stream. The White House is a wonderful palace ten times the size of the White House at Washington.

“You know,” said the conductor, “that you might spend a year in the Painted Desert and then come out realizing that you have only begun the sightseeing of this wonderful Navajo country. I have been through there several times, and each time I learn how much more there is to see.”

Consequently the scouts decided to follow the conductor’s advice and allow themselves more time in the Desert than they had at first planned for.

Having said good-by to the conductor, and left the train at Gallup, their next move must be to ascertain when the freight would come in with Tally and the horses. Until they arrived it would be impossible to ride to Navajo Land.

“If only you could be sure that Tally’s freight would be delayed, you might have a chance to get down into Zuñi Land with me,” said Mr. Burt.

But in this hope Mr. Burt was to be disappointed, for the freight agent informed Mr. Gilroy that there were no night-over stops for the train between Laguna and Gallup, as there was not much transportation service to the small towns on the line, hence Tally and his horses could be looked for soon after midnight.

There being no excuse for Mr. Burt to delay his journey to the Zuñi Reservation, he now said a reluctant farewell and rode away with a native Zuñi guide.

At luncheon, in the El Navajo hotel that day, the Captain said: “Gilly, I’ve been talking to the manager of the hotel and he says it is a good 150 miles to the Painted Desert. That will use up a week of our time in just going there, because the little burros are so slow.”

“If there is any kind of a patented accelerator to attach to their hoofs, Verny, I’ll get them at once: just tell me where they are for sale,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

The girls laughed, but Mrs. Vernon persisted: “Gilly, I am not joking at all. I really mean what I say, you ought to find some means of conveying us to the Desert in a day or two. Now do put on your thinking cap!”

“My thinking cap, Verny, has always led others to think I was a clown that had strayed from a circus. Hence I never use it, in order to spare my pride.”

“Oh, Gilly! do talk sensibly,” cried Julie, impatiently.

“How is that possible, Jule?” demanded Mr. Vernon.

They all laughed, then Mr. Gilroy threatened: “Just for that I’ll wear the cap and have strangers wonder what sort of a menagerie I am conducting across the state.”

A talk with the manager, however, revealed a way in which a day’s time might be saved.

“I can send you on by motor to St. Michael’s Mission, where you can stay over night and put in a much pleasanter day than in prosaic Gallup. But, by taking my advice, you will deprive me of some very desirable guests,” said the smiling manager.

“You are sure we can find accommodations for so large a party after we reach St Michael’s?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“Oh, yes! You will find ‘open house’ at any of the white folks’ ranches, as well as at the convent school, which is a massive building of stone and brick, equal to any in our large cities. In fact, Mr. Gilroy, I doubt if you will want to leave the Mission in a day’s time—there will be so much to interest you all.”

“We’ve already decided, Gilly! We say accept Mr. Walters’ advice and the autos, and let us start the first thing to-morrow morning,” declared Mrs. Vernon.

“Tally ought to be in by then, and I can explain to him about our going on in advance,” agreed Mr. Gilroy. “If only there was some way to move those burros over that 150 miles as quickly as a horse can make it—especially a group of rested horses that will have no riders.”

“Why, I can suggest a way,” ventured Mr. Walters.

“There! I knew we’d find a way out,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, sighing.

“Sell your burros here in Gallup and use the saddle-horses from here to St. Michael’s to carry the packs. Once there, you can buy a splendid pack-horse from twenty-five to thirty dollars, see?”

“What! a decent horse as cheap as that?” exclaimed Mr. Vernon.

“Yes, because of supply and demand, you know. Be sure, after you select your pack animals, to bargain for a native guide to go with you through the Desert. Your own Indian may be a crackerjack but it takes an experienced Navajo to locate the rare water-holes for a noon-day or night camp. And water you must have, you know, both for man and beast.”

“That’s sound advice, Mr. Walters, and I’d follow it without demur, but we can’t sell the burros. We rented them,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

“Gilly, your lease says you can leave them at Gallup, if you have done with them, or go on and leave them at some other city, doesn’t it,” demanded Julie, eagerly.

“Just wait a moment, and I’ll get the agreement out of my bag,” said Mr. Gilroy, excusing himself and hurrying away from the dining-room.

After a short absence from the room Mr. Gilroy returned with the paper. “Yes, siree! That was a fine idea, Julie, considering it came from a girl scout. Now I can rid myself of three slow-going wards, by merely leaving them here in Gallup. My contract exacts that I pay the fraction of a month’s hire that I have the animals in use after the first month’s rental. That lets me off great!”

“This is the fourth week since you rented them at Trinidad,” remarked Mr. Vernon.

“Yes, and we paid that month in advance, you know, when we signed that contract. All I will now have to do will be to wire the owner I am through with the three burros and let him send for them according to agreement. Then we can buy the pack-horses of a Navajo and go on our way rejoicing.”

“If you wanted to get an early start in the morning, I can let my hostler take charge of this little matter for you—the return of the burros by freight, or whichever way the owner decides,” offered Mr. Walters.

After another short conference it was decided to act as the manager of the hotel had advised; then Mr. Gilroy sent a telegram to Trinidad to be delivered at the horse-ranch of the man who had rented him the animals.

Everything in connection with facilitating the departure of the scout-party for the Navajo Desert moved along without a hitch. Tally came in on the freight which was due just after midnight, and Mr. Gilroy met him to assist in getting the horses over to the stables.

“Boss, dey so fresh dey mek plenty kick on the car from Laguna. Mebbe I not glad it no so far to Gallop, or dey kick off side of train,” explained Tally.

“They will have a jaunt to-morrow, my boy, that’ll take out all that pep!” laughed Mr. Gilroy. Then he outlined the plan as Mr. Walters had proposed it, and which every one, but Tally, heartily approved of.

“I go ’long all ’lone wid dem fresh horses?” inquired Tally, dubiously.

“You won’t have the three burros to bother with, and the horses will have the outfit to carry,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

“Mebbe we ’rive at the Mission an’ mebbe we don’. Tally’s money goes on the gamble dat we never see Mission, so!”

“What then—what would you say?” demanded Mr. Gilroy.

“Boss, you not live wid dem hosses lek me, and now I tell you troof when I say dey run away on me sure es shootin’. One guide no good holdin’ in bunch ’a ’leben galavantin’ hosses. No!”

“Think I could help you?”

“Mebbe Boss an’ Meesr Verny do. Mebbe need good extra hand to help,” said the guide.

“All right, Tally. Mr. Vernon and I will send scouts in automobile and we will help you drive the animals to St. Michael’s Mission,” agreed Mr. Gilroy.

This quieted the Indian’s doubts and Mr. Gilroy left him to finish the last bed for his horses, and went to the hotel to bed.

The only change in the program, therefore, was that both men, instead of motoring with the scouts over the road which ran to the edge of the Navajo Land, were to ride with Tally and lead the extra horses to the Mission. Mr. Walters had secured two cars, one of which was equipped with a large rack at the back. This suggested a good idea to Julie.

“Verny, why not strap the tents and kitchen stove on that rack?”

“Yes, Captain; gasoline ‘ain’t got no feelin’s,’ but horse-flesh has. By making the motor do the work we spare our horses,” said Joan.

“Just what we’ll do!” declared the Captain. “Maybe we can pack away the utensils in Gilly’s and Verny’s places in the car.”

Thus they started: the Captain and four girls with their suit-cases in one car, three girls and as much of the camp outfit as would go comfortably into the spare room in the second car.

The road was good, the day was fine, the two automobiles roomy and comfortable, and the drivers experienced; hence the trip from Gallup to the Mission was delightful. The scouts kept up a rapidfire of calls to Mrs. Vernon to look.

“Oh, Verny! Look at that Indian riding across the mesa going like the West Wind!” called Judith,

“Captain! Do look at that little Navajo babe riding that broncho bareback ! How does he manage to stick on?” shouted Joan,

“Quick! Turn around and see that cute little thing minding the flock of sheep!” gurgled Amy.

“Oh, dear! Just look at that coloring of the mesa! Was ever such wonderful tones made for us to use in Art?” sighed Betty.

Many more similar demands were made upon Mrs. Vernon’s attention until she wondered that her head was not twisted off with its continual turning.

After leaving Gallup the trail ran up to the high northern mesa, higher and higher, where the air was as exhilarating as the atmosphere at Acoma. Here the scouts saw as gorgeous flowers as those at the Enchanted Mesa, and twice they stopped the cars in order to add strange specimens to their collections at home. One of these odd blossoms was a sort of snake-plant, said the chauffeur. It had a long seedpod instead of a flower, and this pod was colored and marked like a diamond-backed rattler of the Rockies. The other queer plant was the pricklypear cactus with its great exotic blooms.

The cars resumed their running, and the trail resumed its upward grade. “I wonder where the jumping-off place might be?” laughed Julie, as they gazed up and up and still up the mesa.

The machines topped the grade after a time, and suddenly, quite as unexpectedly as the mountain had vanished and left the valley revealed before the amazed scouts the day of the trip to the Acoma pueblo, now the trail seemed to end on top of the world and there——!

“Well! is this another mirage where the lights and shadows play hide and seek in those ever-changing clouds of blue, lilac, rose and gold colors?” wondered Mrs. Vernon aloud.

“Look down there! That simply can’t be earth, but an ocean of purple and green waves constantly rolling over and over each other to break up—where?” exclaimed Julie.

“Those mountain peaks prove that this is no mirage, Verny, it is the real thing! However, it doesn’t seem natural, but heavenly,” added Amy in a whisper.

“That’s the beginning of the Painted Desert,” said the man at the wheel, then he started the automobile again.

“Why!” gasped Joan, “that isn’t a desert, at all!”

“It looks more like Egypt to me,” said Mrs. Vernon.

“Visitors do say that it reminds them more of the Holy Land than any place in the world,” explained the driver.

“It’s perfectly marvelous,” breathed Betty, who had been silent heretofore.

After several hours of further driving through this unusual country, the car came to a stop at St. Michael’s Mission. Mr. Walters had given Mrs. Vernon a splendid letter of introduction to the father in charge of the Mission, and the father, being a staunch friend of the manager’s, welcomed the guests warmly.

After the drivers had been refreshed with lunch they bid the scouts good-day and started on their homeward trip. The packs had been left at the shed of the Mission House, and then the girls, with their Captain, were shown about the quaint little town. What surprised them most was the cleanliness and perfect manners of the natives they met.

The three riders with their string of horses rode in at St. Michael’s long after sundown, without having had any mishaps or delays. Tally was sent to a low shed with the animals, and the two dusty men were escorted to a small room where they might brush off and clean up. Water was scarce in this section of the land; therefore the dry and dusty riders were warned about wasting a drop of it.

When all were convened again in the Mission’s front room, the father said he wished them to visit the Navajo School, where the boys and girls were educated. This, he explained, would interest them all, as the building would compete with any public school in the East, and the deportment of the pupils caused visiting teachers to marvel.

“The ladies may remain over-night at the school-convent, and I shall be delighted to entertain you men as my guests,” added the father, thus relieving the minds of the scouts as to a possible sleeping place that night.

The entire party went with the father to see the children and to partake of supper in the refectory, but it looked as if the sisters had been warned of the expected guests: the swarthy little Navajos were out in the playgrounds having a fine time. Some were enjoying true American games, and some were walking or reading in secluded corners of the grounds.

Vespers were attended with deep reverence by the little ones who so shortly before had been racing about like mad. Then, after the evening prayers, they were taken to supper. Meantime, the Mother Superior came and welcomed the scout-party with a wonderful smile that glowed in their hearts because it was genuine hospitality that gave it birth.

“We will now sup in the refectory, my friends,” said the Superior, leading the way to a room where the table was set for her and the visitors. And such delicious viands as the girls were given for supper that night! Julie could not help whispering to Joan, who sat next to her: “Where do they get the things to cook such wonderful goodies?”

“S-sh!” whispered Joan in reply. “Say nothing, but keep busy at it, Jule! We shall never have another chance like this.”

“Now, my friends, if you have supped, we will go out and please the children by watching them at their native games. They particularly wished to show the girl scouts of the East some new and entertaining pastimes,” said Superior, rising, and then bending her head in thanksgiving for the food. Every one in the party did likewise, for each one felt the joy of giving thanks to the Power that gave others such love as was being shown in this Navajo Mission by helping those less fortunate in education and ways of the civilized world.

“Not but that the Indians had their own civilization long before Americus Vespucius ever discovered the land!” said Julie to Mrs. Vernon.

“Yes, but it isn’t the same kind of civilization, and so it does not count with the world and its stereotyped laws of society,” whispered the Captain in reply.

They followed the Superior out to the play-ground where a circle of sconces made of pitch and a form of cactus fiber lighted the place as well as any one could expect for an outdoor entertainment. After the guests were seated upon rude benches the games began.

One of the sweet-faced convent teachers came forward and said: “John Sweetwater wishes to entertain the visitors by doing a problem play for them to guess. John, come forward.”

Thereupon a slender, graceful lad came smilingly forward and, without self-consciousness or egotism, began his story. In the words Julie wrote for the Elmertown Record it was as follows:

“White Feather was fine scout who know much of wild-wood life, but some time he little know how to apply his lesson to his wants. One day he alone in camp. Him friends go on long walk-path, but White Feather lazy and no like walk on warm day. He say he get sleep for hour when camp quiet.

“We-e-ll—White Feather find sun very hot as shine on tee pee, and it make air too hot for sleep inside. Now he ’member a cool shade under pine trees, so he move tee pee over, but now he no find how to raise tee pee once again. He work and work and now he pitch so it stand alright, but it very difrent like before. And so he make it stand: He take the nine pegs and drive ’em in ground like this:”

Then John demonstrated the trick. He took nine sticks and pushed them into the soft earth, then he took a small rope that represented the tent line, and this he wound back and forth about the sticks till he had ten straight rows formed of the line. Each row was complete and each line was part of an angle. Then he looked over at the scouts and smiled as he said: “How White Feather do?”

With a bow he retired and the sister smiled as she said: “John wants to know if the girl scouts will try and do his trick?”

The girl scouts, in duty bound, tried to accomplish the trick which had looked so simple, but they found it was not so easy as it had seemed. Finally, while the young Navajos smiled delightedly, they had to give it up. Then the young lad explained how it was done.

“We now will hear a class game which the pupils like very much,” announced the teacher, glancing at a memorandum she held. She then called upon certain pupils and they got up with alacrity to take their places as designated.

“This game, I must explain to the visitors, is called our Nature Game. Each player chooses a profession for himself, such as canoeman, forester, birdman, star-gazer, hunter, swimmer and so on. Each one who chooses his work must be well acquainted with all the lines of that choice. For instance, the fisherman must know twenty different kinds of fish and describe them; the birdman must know twenty kinds of birds; the forester, twenty kinds of trees; and so on through the game.”

The teacher next proceeded to place the players in such a manner that no one of them could whisper and help another, though the Superior explained that there was more honor in class studies with these young Indians than one finds in white schools.

“Now, friends, I begin to tell a story, and during the course of my telling I find I am at a loss for the information I need, so I have to call upon my aids to assist me. Are you all ready, aids?” The Navajos laughingly nodded and waited eagerly for the sister to begin. Then followed a lively contest between the pupils.

The young Navajos proved to be splendid entertainers in this Nature Game, as well as in other ways the teachers suggested, and the Girl Scouts spoke as they felt when it was time to retire: “We wish all our friends might have been here to-night and have enjoyed this hour as we have.”

Julie had spoken to Mrs. Vernon about writing to Ranger Sanderson and the Captain wisely advised: “No harm in writing, Jule, as long as you stick to general topics of interest. Eliminate personalities and any form of endearing terms.”

Julie had laughed as she answered: “No fear of any swain being able to produce a letter from me in which I have called him anything more intimate than the ‘dear sir.’ I’m not wasting any emotions on them, because I need to conserve my soul-power in accomplishing my main ambition in life. When I am a successful writer, Verny, then I may dabble in human emotions in order to be better able to transfer them to paper.”

This was the first time Julie had actually spoken of her choice of a profession in life, and Mrs. Vernon smiled as she patted her on the head. But she was not aware that Julie was sensitive over her choice of writing and feared the ridicule or amused smiles of her friends, in case of failure, or partial success.

Consequently, Julie wrote friendly letters to the Ranger, but used discretion in her manner of addressing him, as well as in her signature. Before leaving St. Michael’s, therefore, Julie left a long letter addressed to Sanderson, in which she told of the visit in Gallup and the subsequent trip and visit to the Mission.

The cavalcade of scouts left their hosts filled with gratitude for the donation of a check to advance the splendid work in the Mission.

Tally had secured three fine pack-horses, and a Navajo guide as well, for the Desert trip, and now all rode forward with eager spirits.

“It doesn’t seem a bit like the Desert as I pictured it,” remarked Hester, glancing at the park-like vista of yellow pine and patches of wild flowers through which the trail ran.

“If you consider how high we are up on these mesas, you’ll not wonder at the springs we feel inside us—springs that make us want to jump up and down in very lightness,” said Joan, comically.

“Talking of springs—I notice there aren’t many to be seen along the trail,” remarked Mr. Vernon.

“And the lack of water accounts for the absence of birds and beasts, the guide just told me,” added the Captain.

“I’m glad we followed Lorenzo’s advice and filled our thermos bottles, as well as the water-bags, before we left the Mission,” said Mr. Gilroy.

That noon they all were glad for that water. After many miles had been reeled off by the horses’ hoofs on the trail, the Navajo guide, whose name was Lorenzo shortened to Lo, led the way down from the high mesa. Down, down, they rode, until, finally, the trail came to an arroyo bed, where, a short distance ahead, the scouts saw a typical village.

“This call Ganado trading-post. We mek good camp there for night,” said Lo, riding up to the adobe settlement.

“What a picturesque hamlet,” said Mr. Gilroy, gazing at the graceful natives—the women in their gay blankets, the children in Mother Nature’s garb.

“A hamlet without Hamlet,” giggled Joan.

“Hamlet without the ham, you mean,” retorted Julie, laughing. “I see only goats and sheep.”

It now became apparent why their Navajo guide had chosen the name of Lorenzo in place of a Navajo name—it was because of the esteem in which the Indian held the “Great White Man,” Lorenzo Hubbell, the well-known settler who has made history for Arizona during his life on the edge of the Desert. Rightly this man has been called “King of Northern Arizona,” but, unlike many monarchs, this one is beloved and reverenced by his people, the Navajos.

That night, the second in Navajo Land, the scout party was entertained by native dances and songs by the Indians in Ganado, and then they retired to the hospitable Mission House owned by the “King.”

Early the next morning the tourists set out, carrying a pair of water-kegs slung across the back of one of the pack-horses. The air was as “heady” as champagne, though the scouts were not acquainted with the effect of that wine, taking Mr. Gilroy’s word for it that it was a stimulant that immediately induced the drinker to feel full of life and free of care, but later would leave traces of wormwood in his soul. Not so this atmosphere of the mesa.

“No wormwood as an aftermath here,” said Mr. Vernon.

As the trail dropped down from Ganado, the scouts rode past hogans where the sheep were corraled in the most primitive manner. Navajo children were seen driving their flocks of sheep to the water and back again.

After riding for a time, Lo pointed out to his party a rim of distant peaks which looked a lilac and green with snow at the tips—“Them San Francisco Mountains,” said he.

The scouts traveled over the miles and miles of gray sea of sage-brush, the delicate perfume of the sage-blossoms greeting their nostrils in a haunting scent. After riding for hours across the mesa, the wonders ever increasing, the tourists came to a forest of cedars. Still going on through these woods that appeared to stretch out and onward forever, the trail continued to descend without the riders realizing the fact. Finally Lo reined in his horse at a spring which was guarded by a wall of stone; upon the face of the stone were stern rules and laws cut in by “first tourists” regarding the value of water in the desert.

“This water-pool ha’f-way to Keam’s,” said Lo, as Tally and he started the dinner.

“Where will you camp to-night, Lo?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“Mek camp here, Captain; plenty water, good shelter for hoss; early mornin’ we go on trail to Keam’s Cañon. Not to-day. Hard ride all day, better good rest for scout and beast.”

After dinner the scouts started to explore this wonderful spot, but that night the scouts found to their surprise that they were muscle sore.

“This is funny, Captain, because we never felt stiff or sore when we first started on the trail at Raton,” remarked Julie.

“And the three green Tenderfeet—they never seemed to mind the riding at all; but now look at them limping around like ‘Mrs. Jarley’s Wax Works,’” commented Joan.

“I know why!” said Hester. “Lo said it was the aftermath of living at such altitudes in New Mexico, and now coming to lower levels once more.”

The scouts slept out on the open desert that night, the soft purplish-blue sky seeming to come down to blanket them, and the stars apparently near enough to be reached and their light switched off, as one does to the electric lights in a Pullman berth.

But shortly after midnight the air became so cold that Tally and Lo got up to build a fire, around which the shivering scouts could crowd, and finally go to sleep again.

After an early breakfast, where the hot coffee proved to be the most acceptable item on the menu, the scout-party resumed the ride across the Desert.

They were about ten miles along the trail when Lo reined in his horse and consulted with Tally in a low tone. The two dashed their horses up to the crest of a rock and gazed anxiously across the waste to the lavender-tinted horizon.

“Shure’s shootin’ he’em comin’,” said Tally to his companion.

The scouts had halted their horses to see and hear why the guides had acted so strangely.

“Lo say one big sand-storm blow up. We get ready queek for he’em. Scouts get goggles and caps out of bags, ’en we ride far as we can get to rocks ahead,” said Tally, as soon as he came within hearing.

“Oh, goodness me! I hope this isn’t going to be another experience like that one on the Bad Lands in the Colorado Rockies!” cried Anne, who claimed that she never did get over the effects of all the alkali dust she inhaled that day.

“It may be necessary for us, Anne,” replied Julie, hoping to encourage the girls. “We’ve not eaten our usual peck of sand this year, you know. Now we have to have it all in one swallow.”

Meanwhile every one was busy getting ready to battle with the simoon, or sand-storm, as the Indians call it.

Finally it began to be felt. The wind, which had been increasing in its velocity ever since the guides returned from the lookout crest, now blew the dust-like grains of sand across the desert and soon obliterated all trails and other land-marks. But the horses battled on, urged by their riders to reach the upthrust of mesa which was now but half a mile ahead.

Before the scouts could more than hope to reach the scanty protection of this irregular formation of rock and yellow pumice, the storm was blowing in all its fury. Several times the horses, first one, then another, lost footing and slithered half-over in the drifting sand.

Joan’s horse heretofore had been considered one of the best mounts in the group, but in the test of endurance it failed to measure up to the Indian ponies bought at the Mission, or with the raw-boned animals the other scouts were riding.

Every scout was now fighting a single-handed battle with the hurricane, fighting the stinging, blinding sand while trying to guide the horse after the Indians who led the way. The great billows of dust were caught up in clouds and were kept driving over the waste-lands in such volume as to create a panic in any heart.

Then came the unexpected. From somewhere near by—possibly the whirling gale brought it from the very same rocky haven they were seeking—something as large as an orange struck Joan’s horse on the side of the face. The half-crazed animal failed to respond to his driver, and, in one leap, was away from the rest of the riders.

Down a hilly declivity dug out by the gale went the mad horse, sliding upon its haunches with Joan almost standing upright in the stirrups. Then up a sand-dune, staggering and pulling on the reins till his rider was dizzy with the swaying. Finally the beast reached a gravel-pit whence the covering of sand had just been swept up and the next blanket of sand had not yet been deposited. Momentum sent him sliding down into this yawning pit.

Instantly Joan saw she must force the breathless animal up out of this hollow or they both would be buried alive. Her breath came like blasts from an exhaust pipe, her eyes flamed as with a thousand fiery sparks, the blood pounded in her head with triphammer regularity, still the scout could think, and think she did!

With a mighty effort she pulled on the tightly gathered reins and fairly lifted her horse up the bank of the hollow. His hoofs slipped in the shifting sand, but at last he stumbled up to the edge. Here, for a sickening moment, he tottered uncertainly in the blast of the simoon. Joan leaned far over his neck and commanded. He obeyed. In another minute he was galloping at the end of the line of horses which was now turning to the left to the mass of rock.

No one had missed Joan, as the heavy sheets of wind-driven sand had been so persistent that each rider was fully occupied with his or her horse. Not until after the storm had blown over were the scouts aware of Joan’s narrow escape.

Resuming the trail, and gazing again at the wonderful colorings of land and sky, the scout-party rode on until they hailed the Navajo children, with their goats and sheep, taking them to drink, and then entered Ream’s Cañon, where they rested the weary horses and spent the night in the hospitable shelter provided by the white trader.

The following morning the scouts visited the monument commemorating Kit Carson, the famous pioneer in the west; they attended the school where several hundred Navajo and Moki Indian children are taught, and they secured the necessary permits to continue the trail across the Painted Desert. Obtaining the permit was not difficult, because every one in Ream’s Cañon knew Lorenzo and he vouched for his party.

After a visit of a day and the second night with the friendly citizens, the scout-party rode on to the last lap of the trip over the Desert. As they rode they discussed the wonderful rugs they had seen in the making, and the still more wonderful specimens of baskets woven by the Old Navajos. They spoke of the beautiful filigree silver work these Indian craftsmen make, and they admired without stint the odd pottery which is molded, ornamented, and baked by the Indians.

Although a description of the beauties and the ever-changing colors of the Painted Desert might give a faint idea of what it is like, the scouts felt that it would be a hard task to try to present to others what they themselves had seen.

“Julie, how are you going to write it up for the Record ?” asked Betty, as they jogged along the trail and heard the girls exclaim at this or that beauty.

“I shall not even try, Betty. It beggars all description.”

Mr. Gilroy had just come alongside in time to hear Julie’s reply, and he laughed.

“Julie, ever read Cobb’s book on traveling de luxe to the Grand Cañon?” asked he.

“No, Gilly; I’ve never even heard of it,” said she.

“You reminded me of it just now, when you told Betty it beggars description. Cobb’s answer to that was, ‘Well, then, I shall not try it.’ In your case, you’d better follow the suit of such a clever writer and thus remain affluent in descriptions.”

Julie laughed heartily, but declared she would risk descriptive poverty rather than be deprived of the joy of telling the folks back home all about the adventure.

During the last few days of that trip the scouts passed the great towering rocks of gypsum and yellow tufa on the tops of which the Moki Indians build their villages.

“Why under the sun do they select the top of the crags for their homes?” queried Hester.

“Some say, to enable them to fight off any raiders. Only a Moki can skip up and down those bald sides of rock as they do, and cart all supplies up there as well,” said Mr. Gilroy.

Lo asked if the scouts wished to visit the towns. Julie had already taken pictures of the naked children running up or down the steep pathways, and the Captain rode over to the spring where a Moki woman was filling a heavy water-urn before placing it upon her head to carry it up to her home, but Mr. Gilroy decided they would move on, and perhaps visit the last of the three villages.

“You say you go through Petrify Fores’ after you through Painted Desert?” asked Lo.

“Yes, we plan to ride there next, and thence on to the Grand Cañon of the Colorado. Could you remain with us as far as Flagstaff?” said Mr. Gilroy.

“I like it, but I no go so far from my own country,” replied Lo, smiling wisely.

His words, more than anything Lo had said or done since he accepted the position as guide across the Desert, impressed the scouts with the fact that for Lo there was but one world, and one country of that world—and that was Navajo Land!

It was, therefore, with regret that the scouts, also Tally, said good-by to Lo and watched him ride back on his lonely trail to St. Michael’s Mission. But Lo would not consider himself lonely; he would have the music of the desert wind, the company of stars at night, and the close companionship of the Great Spirit to go with him on the home trail.

So eager were the scouts to reach the Grand Cañon now that they were daily coming nearer to it, that many beauties and unusual sights on the trail to Adamana were merely given divided attention by the girls. But once they had reached Adamana, named after the man who had brought the public interest to these unique forests, the scouts quite forgot the Grand Cañon for the time being.

As the trip along the Painted Desert had been long and continued, Tally said the horses must have a day’s rest.

“Great Scott, Tally! We bought the pack-horses for use, not for resting. And the rented horses have rested more than they have worked. I’ll bet a new hat your friend who owns them would have worked them much more than we have this past month.”

“I onny say so ’cause Boss like good hoss to ride to Grand Cañon,” argued Tally.

“If that means we lounge around Adamana and lose a whole day while the animals are recuperating, then we’ll ride them to the Petrified Forest, and after we come back we’ll take the train to Williams instead of riding through the San Francisco Mountains as we had planned.”

Tally said nothing more, but saw to it that the horses were well fed and bedded for the night. The scouts were only too thankful to rest upon real beds once more, and not one of them objected when the Captain proposed that they retire early in order to be up at sunrise and get a good start for the day.

At breakfast the following morning, Mr. Gilroy outlined the trip. “We’ll leave here immediately after we’re through eating, and ride to the first forest, which I’m told is only six miles away. The second forest is three miles south and east of the first one. But Chalcedony Park, the third forest, is about thirteen miles south and west of here, and Rainbow Forest is another two miles in a northwesterly direction from the third one.

“I’ve learned that the roads are fine, the grades are easy, and camping facilities are excellent. So why leave the horses here for two or three days to eat their old heads off while we pay for their holiday and at the same time have to hire a team or two for the outing? No, sir! We’ll take our camp outfit with us and give the horses plenty of time in which to amble to the first and second forests.

“We’ll camp to-night and go on to the third forest to-morrow morning. It is only a hop, skip and a jump from Chalcedony Park to Rainbow Forests, so we can do that on our way back to Adamana. Now who wants to object to my motion?” Mr. Gilroy gazed at his friends but no one opposed the program. Instead, they all approved, and he added: “Motion made, seconded and carried by the chairman—he being the whole thing.”

Tally had been told to stock up for a few days’ camp, and this being done and the horses saddled, he brought them up to the front of the Forest House and waited. But he had not long to wait.

The scouts came hurrying out while discussing with Mr. Gilroy the interesting process that took place in order to petrify the trees to their present state of preservation.

With a smiling good-morning to Tally the scout-party climbed into the saddles and started on the trail; Tally, with the three pack-horses, bringing up the rear.

As they rode, Mr. Gilroy explained the cause of the Petrified Forests. As he had proved to be so interesting in the Rockies the previous summer when he described the formation of the glaziers, so now he entertained the girls with his explanations.

“Way back in the days when this earth was young, ages before the grasses and flowers appeared, and very many aeons before the birds and beasts were dreamed of, these grand old forest trees stood and flourished.

“The floods had not yet come, though the times were at hand. The rain began to fall in its customary manner, therefore the trees thought nothing of such a natural occurrence. But it kept on raining without cessation; rather, indeed, did the downpour of water increase, and the wise old fellows of the forest trees began to grumble and wonder ‘when, in thunder, the bloomin’ thing would end.’” An appreciative giggle told Mr. Gilroy that every one was attending.

“Then came a torrential emptying of the clouds, and the winds rose, until, finally, these great monarchs of the forests were torn loose from their roothold in the steep sides of the mountain and went crashing down.

“Still the heavens remained open and poured out its fountains of water; still the wind blew a gale up the deep ravines, and down from the peaks, and more trees were snapped above the ground, or wrenched loose from their anchorage, and all were sent upon the torrents which rushed down the mountain sides to the valleys below.

“The floods increased, until the waters met waters and rushed on, filling the ravines, the valleys, and all the lowlands about here.

“Upon the bosom of the torrents went the trees, crashing into each other, being rolled and tossed up and down, back and forth, till all branches and boughs, all but the trunks, were stripped clean.

“At last they were pitched into a great water-filled valley that looked like a lake, or inland sea, with its vast area of floods filling it from mountainside to mountainside, and with no visible outlet. Here the bereft trees were trapped. No tides to carry them away, no outlet to drain the water. Some were piled up like jack-straws, others were thrown off by themselves, but all were torn and stripped of their beauty as they had stood and defied the world at their feet.

“Then the storms and the gales ceased. But the mountains were now bared. Without the trees to protect it, the earth on the mountainsides was washed away in the succeeding storms. Then the naked rocks were seen, and in time they, too, were washed down into the valley-lake where the trees were packed this way and that way.

“Hundreds, yea thousands of years passed, and this lake, with its mass of tree-skeletons, and the variegated waters caused by the escape of mineral coloring from the rocks, slowly evaporated and slowly deposited its massed rocks and conglomerate debris into rifts and cañons; many of the trees were covered with the dirt of centuries and are now being discovered and revealed to admiring eyes. We see them now, not as the grand old trees that ruled the forests, but as columns marbled in the most exquisite colors and patterns, and all dyed by the same process of Nature’s art-shop.”

As Mr. Gilroy concluded his story of the Petrified Forests, the scouts realized that they were almost there—at the Inland Lake of primeval times which had left such marvelous records of the Great Storm.

That day the tourists visited everything worth seeing in the two Petrified Forests, the second one covering an area of over two thousand acres. The girls marveled at the huge fallen tree trunks, the old giants of that long-ago mountainside, now transformed into agate and onyx with beautiful marblings of rich crimson, pastel greens, royal purples, dazzling gold—all woven and twisted together. Here and there glistened crystals, pure and transparent as diamonds. But whence came they?

In the first forest the scattering of the petrified trees gave the elements a better opportunity to polish them, hence the colors may be said to be more intense. Also erosion played a big part, and this created fantastic figures of the petrified mass it carved. In this way the Eagle’s Head came to be in the first forest.

The Petrified Bridge, also in the first forest, is a great trunk which crosses a ravine about fifty feet wide. The length of this agate bridge is about 111 feet, but it is estimated that the full length of the tree-trunk must have been about 40 or 50 feet before it was broken and petrified.

That evening, with the sun setting upon the rainbow-colored forests which were in plain sight of the camp, the scouts ate supper and speculated on what wonders in Chalcedony Park and Rainbow Forests the morrow might have in store for them.

Although the third and fourth forests were intensely interesting, they failed to make the same deep impression on the minds of the scouts as the first one had done. Nevertheless the entire party found plenty of things to see to fill a day, and they started back for Adamana with so many mental pictures of the Petrified Trees that Mr. Gilroy said that they would surely dream of them that night. However, his prediction failed to come true, as every one was so healthily tired out that sleep proved to be too deep for dreams that night.

At the comfortable little inn of Adamana the host said: “You really ought to visit the Lava Fields and Sunset Crater now that you’re so near them. Then there’s Diablo Cañon on the trail, and Meteorite Mountain only ten miles from Diablo. Then take the train to Williams, if you can’t take time to go horseback through the San Francisco Mountains; there you can change to the spur that runs to the Grand Cañon.”

Though the scouts were impatient to arrive at the wonderful lode-star that had beckoned them West, they signified their willingness to defer that moment when they should stand on the rim of the world and gaze at the awful rent in Mother Earth’s garment—a rent over a hundred miles in length, eighteen miles in width, and over a mile in depth, all to be seen in one sweeping glance from a point which projects from the upper level of the ground at the top of the Cañon.

“I was going to add,” said the host, “that being this far up the trail it would be a crime for you not to ride on to Flagstaff, where you ought to visit the Lowell Observatory. Go there at night, and be introduced to the stars in the heavens.”

It was due to this man’s suggestions and the scouts’ obedience to his advice, that the citizens of Elmertown were treated to several articles signed “Juliet Lee.” The first one read:

“At Sunset Crater and the Lava Fields to-day we could see hundreds of square miles of volcanic activities. The most interesting of these lava flows and extinct craters is one which is plainly visible from the Santa Fé railroad. It shines resplendent as though the sun were casting its red-gold rays upon the crest of the peak. It is said that the particles of iron in the rock of which this mountain is formed has oxidized and now presents the glowing color of sunset; when seen in this remarkable air of Arizona you can imagine the sun is shining forever upon that volcano.”

Another day the readers of the Record were treated to a graphic bit about Meteorite Mountain.

“We rode to Meteorite Mountain, which is a peculiar mound about two hundred feet high. Even before we reached it we saw pieces of meteoric iron scattered about, seeming to bear out the theory of our scientists that the meteor struck here, exploded, and blasted the hole into which it fell, leaving the great rim of upturned earth two hundred feet high that constitutes the mound.

“We climbed this mound and found the huge bowl at the top to be more than a mile deep, with more than forty acres area at the bottom. If you care to see what the fearful effect would be of hurling a blazing meteor from the sky and having it strike a soft globe of earth, just climb up to the steeple of the Elmertown Church and drop a rock about the size of a water-melon into a large mud-puddle. The rock may not splash, but the puddle would.

“Fancy, then, this red-hot ball of metal, heated to almost a molten state by the velocity it had attained in being hurled through a million miles of space, and being attracted by force of gravitation to our pleasant little planet!

“On our ride from Meteorite Mountain we collected different pieces of the particles of Meteoric rock which can be found strewn over the surrounding area for many miles around. But none of these metallic pieces had life enough to attract a needle.

“One gentleman whom we met in Cañon Diablo told us there were diamonds to be found hidden in the small meteorites. Dear friends in Elmertown, your girl scouts may yet succeed in placing their native place on the map and have it a head-liner in the great metropolitan daily papers, for we have collected so many meteorites that it is possible, nay it is probable, that we shall find diamonds in our samples.”

In another issue of the paper Julie had an article on Cañon Diablo which they visited the day after going to Meteorite Mountain.

“Although we could have glimpsed the Cañon Diablo from the train which crosses this chasm on a threadlike steel bridge two hundred and fifty feet high, we had decided to trail to Flagstaff in order to see everything on the way, to say nothing of glorying in the air and the omnipresent coloring of sky and land in this marvelous section of America.

“Cañon Diablo is a unique result of volcanic eruption. It is a narrow chasm not much wider than six hundred feet, but it is several miles long, and from two to three hundred feet deep. Picture to yourself a jagged, awe-inspiring cleft in our earth which, from the peculiar coloring of the rocky walls, looks as if a perpetual fire burned there. Even the atmosphere causes one to fancy that there must be smoke rising from this scene of Satan’s camp fire.”

There was so much to be seen in every direction all along this wonder route of New Mexico and Arizona that the scouts felt as if a year would be all too short a time in which to visit the places they yearned to see. As for two months ! Well, that was only a taste of the delights in touring this land.

For instance, while crossing the Painted Desert Lo had said: “Boss, you tek fren’s to see Cañon de Chelly sure! I show you dere our Navajo Fort, and fines’ Cañon scenery in worl’.”

But the tempting offer had to be refused for lack of time. Thinking that the halting manner in which the refusal was made might be overcome, Lo added: “You see Monument Cañon, the famous Rainbow Bridge, and the Cañon del Muerto where mummy caves are viseeted. Mebbe you buy wonder blankets mek by Navajo up Cañon Chelly, eh?”

Again at Ream’s Cañon, the trader had advised the scouts to be sure to trail up to Tuba city.

“If you want to see the most wonderful cliff-dwellings in the west, you really must visit those of Betatakin and Kitsiel on your way to Tuba.

“Then you should take plenty of time to visit the Hopi villages, in order to get acquainted with them; to get photographs of the squaws building the houses while their lords sit smoking their pipes and boss the work. If you are favored, because of the girl scouts here, you may snap the pictures while the Hopis do their tribal dance. You may persuade one of their shamans, or medicine men, to tell you a thrilling story of old.”

Mr. Gilroy had to reply regretfully: “We haven’t the time to visit these interesting places. The girls have to be back home for school by the middle of September.”

Again, after visiting the Petrified Forests, the scouts were advised to see, without fail, the many amazing sights to be found in the San Francisco Mountains.

To this advice from the host, the same answer as given Lo and the trader, was made: “We haven’t time for all, but we do expect to visit the Walnut Cañon and the Lava Fields on our way to Flagstaff.”

The final temptation was offered the scouts while they were stopping in Flagstaff. They had visited the Lowell Observatory at night as had been advised, and were back at the hotel when the manager addressed Mr. Gilroy.

“I suppose you are going to take in Montezuma’s Castle and well, so long as you are here.”

But these interesting points were forty-seven miles south of Flagstaff. To ride there on horseback or to go in a wagon meant several days’ extra time, and that much to be deducted from the time on hand in which to complete this tour. Hence the scouts had to forego the pleasure of that side trip or stop there when they traveled southward from Ash Fork.

Before leaving Flagstaff Mr. Gilroy telegraphed the horse-dealer at Trinidad for instructions regarding the return of the saddle-horses which they would no longer use or need after reaching Williams. The answer came in a few hours time: “Ship back freight collect.”

“Well, girls, you’ll soon say farewell to the horses, consequently you may have your choice of riding them to Williams, or sending them home from here,” said Mr. Gilroy after reading the telegram to them.

The distance from Flagstaff to Williams was so negligible, and the roads so good, that the scouts preferred riding instead of taking the train. At Williams, however, the saddle horses were sent home as requested, and Tally found a buyer for the three pack-horses as well as the outfits for camping. When he handed the money received for the horses to Mr. Gilroy, he grinned and said:

“You travel cheapes’ any one I ever see, Boss.”

“Why? What’s all this money for?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“T’ree pack-horses in St Michael’s cos’ you sixity-fife dollar. Here in William I sell he’em fer t’irty dollar each, mek ninety. What I sell camp outfit for you I lose some money, but what you mek on t’ree hoss more’n mek up loose, see? So now you trail across desert an’ it no cos’ anything,” explained the guide.

“Here, Tally! we shall go fifty-fifty on the profits of this horse-deal,” declared Mr. Gilroy, sharing the excess money equally.

“Gilly turning horse-trader! Who would have thought it?” laughed Julie, as they started for the railroad station.

On the trail from Williams to the Grand Cañon, the scouts found plenty to interest and with which to amuse themselves. The interest was to be had by gazing at the grandeur of the scenery, ever changing from one aspect to another, as the train passed the San Franciscan Mountains and climbed the grade which rose steadily. The amusement was furnished by tourists who seemed possessed in telling others all about the “dos” and “don’ts” one must obey at the Grand Cañon.

Finally, one tourist, his patience quite gone, asked a woman—a pinched-faced, narrow-eyed, thin-lipped woman—how many times she had been through the Cañon. “Perhaps you live there permanently,” said he in conclusion.

“Me! Why, no. This is my first visit there. What made you ask?”

“Because you seem to know more about the whole length and breadth of Grand Cañon than all the books ever written on the subject,” retorted the man, with finality.

Thereafter there was comparative silence in the Pullman, for which the scouts were duly grateful to the sarcastic man.

“Gilly, are we going to stop at the El Tovar Hotel that woman was telling about?” asked Betty.

“No, Betsy, I thought you scouts would much rather camp, and go on from site to site as the spirit moves us, eh?”

A chorus of “Oh, yes, Gilly!” assured the Boss of the party that his idea was well favored. Then Mr. Vernon said: “How about outfits now that Tally sold ours in Williams?”

“We’ll join a ‘John Bass Camp’; there being so many in our group we can manage to secure a guide and the outfits without having strangers thrust in upon our party. In this way we secure the horses, outfits, and everything, much cheaper than we could provide them for ourselves,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

“Oh, I’m just crazy to get there!” cried Judith, who really acted half-wild over everything in the west.

“What a pity it is our Judy could not have been in the Rockies with us last summer,” said the Captain.

“I’m glad she wasn’t, Verny. I never should have been the chief actor in all the thrills Joan and I reeled off for you,” said Julie.

“Maybe it would have been the three ‘J’s’ instead of two jays,” laughed Joan.

“Girls! some one said we are here!” cried Hester, pressing her face against the window-screen in order to look for the town of Grand Cañon. She saw a few scattered dwellings and a railroad station.

Mr. Gilroy had no idea of allowing the scouts to see the Cañon at once. It was late afternoon when they left the train, and he led them directly to the hotel where they could wash and brush up and then have afternoon tea. He planned to show them their first view of the wonderful chasm with the hues of sunset full upon its walls, and his plan succeeded even better than he could have hoped for.

The eager and impatient scouts ran out ahead of Mr. Gilroy the sooner to view the Wonder they had come so far to see. They reached the rail and looked. The earth lay open before their eyes!

Not a word was uttered. Girlish hands clutched at the rail, and breaths came in short gasps. The sun was sending slanting beams across the gigantic gap before them, and dark purple mist was already veiling the depths of the cañon.

Finally Betty sobbed aloud. The sound seemed to unlock the pent-up emotion of the other scouts. Every one trembled with the wild thrill of the scene, and two of the girls laughed hysterically.

Having taken their fill of this their first view of the Cañon, the scouts followed Mr. Gilroy to a point which jutted out beyond the rest of the cliff.

“It looks seared and scarred like one of those old shamans back on the Desert,” commented Joan, gazing down at the ruin-like mass of rock which apparently held up the promontory upon which they were standing.

“Look, girls! That is what I want you to see,” called Mr. Gilroy, as they all reached the spot out on the projection of earth. He pointed in the direction he wished the scouts to gaze.

A fiery ball was just about to rest itself upon a far-off peak, but in doing so it shed a glory of light over all the crags and chasms, the pinnacles and plateaus, the mesas and monuments of this Wonderland. Quite suddenly, this red sphere seemed to roll behind the peak and as suddenly the glory faded.

Now began the marvelous transformation scene. What had been rocky walls crimson as blood became purple, then lilac, then scarcely-tinted lavender ghosts of cliffs. Then the sharp points of all the rocks and monuments in sight became veiled as with a pale gossamer web so frail that a breath might waft it away. Finally the night-shadows crept up from the Cañon to meet the purple curtain from the heavens which now fell slowly but surely as if drawn by an invisible hand from behind the scenes.

“Oh!” sighed Julie, as the last flicker of the sunset died away from the farthest battlement.

“Verny, my knees shake so from all this greatness that I don’t see how I shall be able to walk back to the hotel,” sighed Amy.

“Then you’ll be glad to hear that you won’t have to walk back, eh, Amy?” asked Mr. Vernon, catching a glimpse of Tally and a strange guide with a group of saddle horses waiting at a distance near the bridle path.

“Are you going to make a chair for me of your crossed hands, you and Gilly?” laughed Amy, following the others as they walked away from the crag.

“Better than that,” returned Mr. Gilroy; “we all shall ride to camp. I had Tally go and arrange with the Bass manager for camping accommodations during our stay in the Grand Cañon.”

It was with relieved minds then, that the scouts climbed into comfortable saddles and started to ride to the most up-to-date camp they had ever seen. The question of suitable apparel for the dinner and evening in such a luxurious hotel as El Tovar had been the only fly in the ointment while gazing on the Cañon at sunset. Now Gilly had helped them out of that difficulty by his quick perceptions and realization of the fitness of things.

The camp-site for that night had been chosen with a view to giving the scouts the first glimpse of sunrise. Bearing that in mind, Mr. Gilroy said: “Every one has to be up and ready to come with me before sun-up in the morning. Therefore, we’d better go to bed early.”

“That’s no punishment for me,” laughed Joan, and the other girls seconded her declaration.

“We will add,” supplemented Julie, “We’ll go to bed now , provided you’ll send our dinners to us.”

“Not much! One reason I decided to bring you all to camp was to save myself the expense of tipping for such a crowd. Now you ask me to serve dinner in your private rooms? That adds extra cost to the charges for dinner, and I cannot afford it.”

“Oh, does it?” said Betty, her eyes opening wide in surprise.

“Yes, of course, Simple!” laughed her twin sister, winking at the other girls.

In the high altitudes of the west with its rarified air, one sleeps less and feels more rested than near the sea-levels where the humidity makes one heavy-lidded. Therefore the scouts were up at dawn and were waiting on one of the projecting cliffs to get the first glimpse of the sun. They saw the Cañon in the early morning as an oriental city, mist-veiled and shadowy, suggesting haunting mysteries.

Then came up from behind the rim of turrets and towers, a golden light that bathed the Cañon in a sea of glory. Soon this light grew more intense, until every point of rock was transformed into a gleaming spear-point. At last came the sun-burst of gold which instantly reflected in the Cañon in opalescent tints too beautiful to name.

Having remained spell-bound by the marvel of watching the rising sun touch and transform everything, from the greatest to the least, the scouts finally sighed and Mr. Gilroy made a move to get up.

“Sorry to shatter this dream, girls, but I’m sure I smelled frying bacon from our camp yonder,” said he.

“Oh, Gilly!” exclaimed a chorus of voices in shocked disapproval.

“How can you be so material?” was Joan’s horrified query.

“I can understand how it is,” giggled Anne. “Of course, I am just as surprised and uplifted over this scene as any one ought to be, but bacon and eggs also have an appeal.”

“Anne,” said Mr. Gilroy, “these dabblers in rhapsodies will eat their full share of the ‘common material food’ the moment they get within reach of that frying-pan. Come on, let’s get there first, Anne.”

During breakfast Mr. Gilroy said: “As soon as we finish here, the guide proposes taking us down Bright Angel trail to the bottom of the Cañon. The heavier you are the firmer you will feel while on the burros’ backs, hence I advise you to eat plenty.”

“Gilly, dear, I think I will remain in camp. I am not going down,” stammered Betty.

“Not going down! Well, I guess you are!” exclaimed Julie, amazed.

“Julie, I’m afraid,” whimpered the girl.

“Nonsense! What’s there to be afraid of?” demanded her sister.

The adults in the group reasoned with Betty, but Amy and Hester now said: “We’ll stay here with Betty and keep her company.”

Betty smiled feebly in gratitude to these wonderful friends who were willing to forego the thrill of such a trip in order to keep her from being lonely.

“No, you don’t!” retorted Joan. “If you two have the shakes, the only way to cure you is to drag you down at the heels of the donkeys.”

“If you’re afraid to go down why not up and confess, just as Betty did? Don’t go and get out of it by saying you’ll sacrifice yourself by remaining here to keep her company,” was Julie’s sarcastic suggestion.

Mrs. Vernon cut this unpleasant little scene short by saying: “We’re all ready to start when you are, Gilly. Betty is going too, as she’ll see once she is on the way that there is nothing to dread.”

Two bright crimson spots began to glow in Betty’s cheeks as she followed after her friends, but she trembled every time she glanced in the direction of the Cañon.

There were twenty-three tourists, besides the scout-party, to ride down Bright Angel trail that morning. Some ladies who were not provided with riding habits had rented them from the outfit department of the hotel. Of course, Julie had to say “23 is skiddoo!” Every one had to ride cross-saddle, but two of the ladies in the cavalcade made a great fuss over such an immodest sight! The scouts stared in amazement.

Judith whispered: “They ought to remain home on the farm and knit antimacassors for the chairs.”

Finally they started off, one guide leading, another bringing up the rear. Tally rode directly in front of Amy, then after Amy came Betty. Back of Betty rode the Bass Guide, and behind him rode Hester. This arrangement would place each one of the two guides next to each of the three timid girls.

The trail, cut and made by hands with infinite labor and patience, seemed all too narrow for the feet of man. Yet the little burros go up and down it with perfect security.

“How can they do it, Gilly?” asked Joan, as they started down.

“Because their tiny hoofs take up no room, whatever, as they plant them down one directly in front of the other. Another thing, they are trained for this trail, and instinct tells them at what precise place to go slow, or at what time to hasten. Just trust them and look up . Don’t look down into the chasm, but up and over at the marvels of this place.”

To Amy, there were no more marvels in this Cañon—it was all purgatory from fear. To Hester it looked like the side of the Woolworth Tower. To Betty it was just nothing at all, but space, down, down into the bowels of the earth.

But the donkeys had started down and, perforce, carried the riders with them. Here and there the Cañon guides called the attention of their charges to various attractions.

“Gilly, why do all these horrid little burros insist upon walking on the outer rim of this razor-edge!” called Joan, who had vainly endeavored to guide her mount nearer the perpendicular wall on the inside of the trail.

Mr. Gilroy laughed. “They’d much rather you would scrape your thigh than theirs.”

At this moment a shrill cry came from one of the women who had objected to the divided skirts, “I got to go back! I just got to—right off!”

“You can’t!” shouted a guide. “You’ll be off, all right, if you don’t keep quiet and sit tight—Off into space. But you can’t go back now.”

“You’d better turn around and help me get back!” shrilled she. “I’ll sue you if you don’t do as I wish.”

“Madam, it’s impossible to get back. The trail is only wide enough for a burro. How in the name of all possessed do you expect this line to turn around and pass itself in order to lead you up?”

The guide was impatient, but he hushed the threatening female for a time. Soon after this, the riders came to a broad shelf where all might relax the tension. Once here, the woman who had wanted to return to the hotel spoke again.

“Here I stay till you come back! You don’t get me to go no further.”

Then her companion began to remonstrate with her, and the scouts heard the argument.

“They won’t rebate a cent, Lizzie. All this money for this ride wasted while you sit here waiting and the mule ain’t workin’, at all!”

Perhaps it was the idea of paying for something she might miss that induced the complainer to continue down the trail when the guide proceeded on his route.

In suddenly calling a halt on the trail where it was so narrow that the riders’ legs on the Cañon side were sheer over the edge, many of the mules had turned a sharp projecting cliff and were out of sight, while the rest were still crawling down the trail upon the upper side of the bluff. At the very moment when the halt was ordered Julie’s mule was about to turn the corner, and the wise little beast instantly obeyed the command. His head and forefeet were on the one side of the blade-like angle of the cliff, and his tail and hindfeet on the other side making a decided twist in his body. He could adapt himself nicely to such a squirming necessity, but the saddle did not. Hence Julie was suspended, more than three-fourths of her, over the edge.

“Tally! Tally!” called she to the guide who was the third rider in advance, but out of sight back of the cliff, “half of me is on the down-trail on your side of the cliff, but the other half of me is on the up-trail on the Captain’s side of it. If you’ll only urge the guide to move the line along two feet further I’ll be all one side as I should be.”

Those behind her laughed, because her predicament was exactly as Julie had described it, but Tally knew the danger of the position and had the entire line of mules advance a few steps to allow the scout’s mount to come completely around the curve.

Presently the cavalcade resumed the downward climb. Lower and lower went the trail, and higher, still higher, rose the walls of the Cañon above the heads of these tiny dots which clung tenaciously as they crawled along the face of the cliffs. Finally the advance guide shouted:

“We’re coming to the plateau where are the Indian Gardens. There we will halt and rest the mules; the riders may stretch their own muscles and walk around, if they choose.” The riders were glad to do so.

After resuming the ride, the frightened woman who had so recently insisted upon going back to the hotel, began to chatter of the beauties seen on this trail, with praise for the one who had named it Bright Angel Trail.

“Not so long since, Madam, you were sure of falling and turning into an Angel yourself, eh?” was the remark made by a short fat man directly back of the spinster.

“Sir!” snapped the offended lady, but she daren’t turn her head.

“Oh, pardon! I didn’t mean a ‘fallen Angel’—not at all; although you could scarcely hope to become a ‘Bright Angel’,” explained the man.

The woman dared not turn about in her saddle to freeze the speaker with one of her looks, but she could maintain a very haughty silence, which she did, to the relief of all the other members of the party.

Jacob’s Ladder, another hair-raising section on the trail, brought forth renewed cries and shrill calls for the guides to save the two entertaining females in the party, but he ignored them now.

“The Devil’s Corkscrew must be named for its facility of compelling one to screw up one’s courage to descend it, eh?” asked Amy, who had managed to get thus far without fainting in the saddle.

“I should say its name implies exactly what it says,” returned Mr. Vernon. “That is: the devil of a corkscrew for man and mule.”

The scouts rode up the Bright Angel Trail.

Mr. Vernon, always so precise and particular in his speech, shocked the scouts into a merry laugh of amusement at his shortcoming.

“Verny, Verny! I fear your morals will be completely ruined by the time we are ready to leave the Cañon,” teased Judith.

“You know the adage: ‘Bad associations, etc.’ don’t you?” laughed Mr. Vernon. “Well, any one can see the effect Gilly has had on us.”

About noon-day they were at the bottom of the stupendous Cañon where the Colorado roars its tawny torrents through the gorge. After luncheon, and a long rest, the party began to prepare for the ascent. Mr. Gilroy had planned to pitch camp down on the sands near the river, but the two guides having charge of the trip were inclined to vote against such an idea. At length, however, they were overruled, so the guides found a stretch of fine clean sand which would answer admirably for sleeping purposes. While supper was being prepared, the scouts adventured over the rocks and Julie took snapshots. As there was plenty of driftwood it was no trouble to keep a camp-fire going till late in the night. The warmth from this, and the horse blankets proved to be sufficient for the scouts. That night they stretched upon the sand, and gazed up at the mile-high towering cliffs which almost hid the dark-blue vault of heaven.

The following morning the scouts rode up the Bright Angel Trail to the branching, where the Tonto trail leads down to the Kaibab trail, over the suspension bridge, and thus along Bright Angel Creek. On this long ride the guide stopped at Phantom Ranch for dinner and arranged for his party to spend the night in the cabins. They then rode on through Bright Angel Cañon, to Ribbon Falls. That evening the scouts enjoyed many tales of adventure as told by the guide who had lived in the Grand Cañon area for many years.

Late afternoon, on the third day, the scouts rode out of the Cañon once more.

“My!” declared Julie, heaving a great sigh, “I feel as though we had been absent from this upper crust for many weeks.”

“But glad enough to get away from the roar of the Colorado torrent, and the mad echoes in the vast chasms and crevices of the Cañon,” added Mrs. Vernon, who felt that living way down in the Gorge for two days was enough to satisfy anybody.

For a week thereafter the scouts were continually on the go; then they felt that they had seen everything of any moment in and about the Grand Cañon, and Tally and the Bass Guide fully agreed with them.

They had gone down Hermit trail, had stopped at the Santa Maria Spring, seen the Lion Cañon and stayed over-night in the Hermit Cabins. Then retracing their way as far as Cape Butte they struck the Tonto Trail and followed the course until they came out upon the Plateau. They had visited every point from which a view was to be had, and at last Mr. Gilroy demanded an inventory of Julie.

“Not your apparel or assets, but a count of the rolls of film you have on hand by this time, waiting to be developed and printed, once we reach a reasonably priced kodak shop.”

Julie laughed. “Gilly, ‘I dare not tell a lie,’ and I’m afraid to tell you the truth.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy, “Just what I suspected! Now I shall nip all this photography in the bud by announcing that we bid good-by to temptation by leaving Grand Cañon in the morning.”

Joan laughed. “No temptation for us to remain, Gilly. Jule’s photographed every stick and stone and living creature to be found up on the rim, down in the gorge, and on the sides of all the walls. She even tried to shoot the sun to-day, but that defied her. Now she’s willing to depart.”

The girls wished to express the species of flora and pictures of birds which they had secured for their scout records, consequently they secured a box and carefully packed the plants and pressed flowers, as well as the quantities of mineral samples, and the many, many snapshots taken throughout the trip.

They had pictures of the black-throated song-sparrows, which, winter as well as summer, in this section of the country never cease their sweet music; the mountain blue-bird; Bullock’s oriole and the Arizona hooded oriole; humming-birds, threshers, cardinals and warblers. Then there were the dusky grouse, known as the pine-hen, because it feeds upon the pine-nuts of the pinyon; the Alpine three-toed woodpecker; the white-crowned sparrow; the greve, mallard, blue-winged teal, the coot, shoveller, ruddy and pintailed ducks; besides these were the whitefaced ibis, the sora, the stilt, the American avocet, and many, many other birds. In fact, the girls had added two hundred and forty different kinds of resident birds to their lists for the scout records. Of course, many of these had been mentioned already in their records of birds in the Rockies, and in the Atlantic Coast States; but the environment and scenery of New Mexico and Arizona were so unusual that the photographs taken of the birds made them seem very different from those they had of the same birds in other localities.

To their floral records they had added the odd species of the cactuses, among which were the hedgehog, fish-hook, barrel-cactus, nigger-head, candy-cactus, the rainbow and the pin-cushion. The variety of chollas, which some people class as a cactus, were the prickly pears, the ball cholla, the common cholla, with its gorgeous flowers of red, pink, white, and yellow; there were the jumping cholla with flowers a light rose shade, also many unnamed species with beautiful flowers.

Among the interesting plants which were photographed and sampled, was the ocatillo, which looks like a clump of gray sticks from ten to twenty feet high, but with such long thorns their whole length that it is known as the “Devil’s Claw.” The night blooming cereus was a flower which the scouts gathered in the desert on one of their camping trips. In the Grand Cañon they found the rare phacelia, with flowers of a pale violet color. Similar to the phacelia were the borages with their yellow flowers in clusters upon rough, hairy stems. There were the neivetas, the Sactato Gordo, the comb-seed and the stick-seed; gorgeous poppies, primroses, magnificent sunflowers and the Arizona dandelion. As the girl scout troop was named after the dandelion, they took a deep interest in these western dandelions which were very attractive. The plant has feathery bright green leaves, tinged a deep red, and the flowers are very beautiful.

They had also gathered many queer kinds of flowers on the mesas, too numerous to mention individually. So many remarkable species were added to their records that it is doubtful if any other girl scout in the country could compete with their collection.

Finally the boxes were insured and shipped to Elmertown, and then came the last night around the camp fire at Grand Cañon.

“Gilly, when we are away from this fairy-land it will all seem like a dream to me,” said Betty, sighing.

“At least it will be a pleasant dream, won’t it?” asked he.

“Oh, yes, indeed! I wish it might go on for another summer,” replied Betty, eagerly.

“That’s one topic I’ve been discussing with the Captain: whether Julie will make enough money out of that book she proposes to publish, to take us all on another trip to the west next summer,” ventured Mr. Gilroy, jokingly. But he had no idea of how near the truth he had ventured when he spoke of Julie’s book. That was the subject she had eagerly discussed with Burt, and he had told her that her writing was the kind which would interest a publisher. Hence she was determined to try the field of literature soon after she got home.

After bidding the Bass Guide good-by, the scout-party went to the hotel to wait while Mr. Gilroy sent a few telegrams. When he came back from the desk he held a handful of letters which he waved at Julie.

“Just think of it, Jule! A broken-hearted young Ranger left a whole week without a word from you! Here is a letter for every day since he left Albuquerque—all forwarded from the various towns and left here to accumulate dust for the past four days.”

Every one laughed at Julie’s amazed expression, but it was soon learned that the letters were meant for different members in the party. Two only were for Julie and were postmarked, “Glorieta, New Mexico.”

“Only two, you said,” teased Joan, “but see how thick!”

On the train to Williams, Mr. Gilroy planned to motor the scouts to Ash Fork, thence to take a local train to Montezuma Castle. Castle Hot Springs would be their next destination, and then on to Phoenix where they would follow the plan as at Santa Fé—motor each day to a new point of interest until all had been visited.

They arrived in Williams and were waiting for Mr. Gilroy to see the ticket agent about a touring car, when the agent handed him a telegram. He took it, tore it open, read it, and hurried over to the scouts.

“Say, children, this is the hardest luck of all! I’ve got to leave you and get back home as quickly as possible,” said he.

“Oh, Gilly!” came a chorus of voices in consternation.

“Yes, and the worst of it is that my lawyer has been trying to catch me at towns along the railroad line for the past two weeks. That was about the time we were crossing the Desert. Now I’ve simply got to rush back.”

“Anything serious, Gilly?” asked Mrs. Vernon, deeply concerned.

“Well, it seems there is a legal quibble over my title to the Adirondack Estate, and my personal presence is needed in Court to testify. Too much is at stake for me to neglect it. Court opens in September, you know, and he wishes to consult with me before that date.”

“Gilly, we all go back when you go!” declared Julie, nodding her head at each of the scouts for their approval to this proposition.

“Yes, indeed, Gilly! that is what I wished to say,” added Mrs. Vernon.

“We won’t miss so very much at that,” said Mr. Vernon. “A mad rush through Arizona, and then a stampede for the boat to cross the Gulf of Mexico in hot weather, and then on home. Now we can get on the train and go through to New York without a care about hotels, and camps, and timetables.”

“Don’t forget, Gilly, we have several other mountains left in our good old United States, from which to select our next season’s sojourn,” declared Joan.

“Don’ leaf Tally outen dat mountain climb, eh?” said the Indian, anxiously.

“We should say not!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy, and to this the scouts chorused, “Motion made and seconded by our chairman, who is the whole thing.”

“So he says,” laughed Julie, bound to have the last word.