TEN days before the departure from San Francisco telegrams had been sent in all directions giving forth the glad tidings that General Holden and Gail, Roderick and Buell Hampton, were safe and would soon be on their homeward way to Wyoming. Among those thus notified had been the Shields family at Los Angeles and Allen Miller at Keokuk. But it was a great surprise to find Whitley Adams waiting the arrival of the morning train at Rawlins with his big Sixty Horse Power automobile, and bearing the news that Mrs. Shields, Barbara and Dorothy had returned, while also Uncle Allen and Aunt Lois had come to Encampment so that appropriate welcome might be given to those who had recently come through such terrible and harrowing experiences. Jim Rankin and Tom Sun were also on the platform to exchange hand-grips with Roderick and the Major.

After the first glad salutations Whitley pointed to his car, and announced that he was going to drive the party over to Encampment.

“Sorry to be starting in opposition to the regular stage,” he said with a sly little wink in Roderick’s direction. “But you see Mr. Rankin’s horses are hardly good enough for the occasion.”

Jim drew himself up and pointed to his old Concord stage coach standing by, all ready for the road.

“The dangnationest finest pair uv roan leaders and span uv blacks at the wheel that ever had lines over ‘em in this part of the country,” he declared sturdily. “Just wait a bit, young man. ‘Fore we’re many miles on the road I make free to prognosticate you’ll be under the bed-springs uv that new fangled wagon uv yours and my hosses will be whizzing past you like a streak uv greased lightnin’. How would a little bet uv ten or twenty dollars suit you?”

“Oh, bankers never gamble,” replied Whitley with undisturbed gravity. “Well, you’ll follow with the luggage, Mr. Rankin, and no doubt we’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again sometime tomorrow. Come away, Miss Holden. Luncheon is to be waiting at my hotel in Encampment in a couple of hours.”

“Blame his skin,” muttered Jim when the big automobile had whirled away. But Tom Sun was convulsed with laughter.

“He got your dander fairly riz, Jim,” he chuckled.

Jim’s visage expanded into a broad grin.

“Guess that’s just what he was arter. But ain’t he the most sassy cock-a-whoop little cuss anyhow?”

“Shall I help you with the luggage?” laughed Tom Sun.

“Oh, you just quit the foolin’ game, Tom. Don’t come nachural from you. Besides I might be gettin’ a heap peevish and kind o’ awkward with my artillery. Suppose we lubricate?”

So the old cronies crossed over to the Wren saloon, where a brace of cocktails soon restored Jim’s ruffled dignity.

Meanwhile the automobile was speeding along.

Roderick was on the driver’s seat beside Whitley, and absorbing the news.

“Oh, I just insisted on your Uncle Allen coming along,” Whitley was telling him. “And Aunt Lois, too. My old folks will arrive at the end of the week. Meantime Aunt Lois is helping me with my trousseau.”

“Your trousseau!”

“Yes—socks and things. You see it’s all fixed up between me and dear Dorothy. Oh, she’s the best girl ever—you’ll remember I said that from the first, Rod, my boy.” His face became grave, and his voice took a humble tone. “Of course I know I can never, fill the place of Grant Jones, and I told her that. But I’ll do my best to make her happy, and I think she cares enough for me to let me try.”

Roderick pressed the hand next him resting on the steering wheel.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy, both of you,” he said; “and I congratulate you, Whitley, old fellow, from the bottom of my heart.”

Whitley looked round and was his gay, light-hearted self once again.

“Thanks, old chap. Well, Barbara and Ben Bragdon are also ready. We’re only waiting for you and Gail.”

Roderick’s face reddened.

“You’re mighty kind but rather premature, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, fudge and nonsense! We’re all agreed the thing’s settled, or as good as settled. Great guns anyone with half an eye could have told it, to see you handing her out of the train a little while ago.”

“Really, Whitley.”

“There now, just forget all that. So when talking matters over with Bragdon and our dear twins I suggested that we might as well ring the wedding bells for six as for two at a time—may come cheaper with the Reverend Grannon, you know, if we hand it to him wholesale.”

Roderick no longer attempted to protest, and Whitley rambled on: “But, say, old fellow, your Uncle Allen has one on you. He declares that Gail Holden is just the very girl he intended for you right from the beginning—the young lady about whom you kicked when you had that row in the banker’s room a year and a half ago—Great Scott, how time does fly!”

“Impossible,” exclaimed Roderick in profound amazement

“The very same,” replied Whitley. “The little tot of a girl with whom you had that desperate love affair down the river years and years ago—oh, quite a pretty story; your uncle told it to me with no end of charming details. And now he is mighty proud, I can tell you, over his own foresight and sagacity in picking just the right girl for you at the very start.”

“He said that, did he?” queried Roderick with a grim smile.

“Yes, and that if you had followed his advice you could have had her then, without running away from home and facing all sorts of hardships and dangers.”

“No, sir,” exclaimed Roderick firmly. “Gail Holden is not that sort of girl. Uncle Allen forgets that she had to be won—or rather has to be won,” he added, correcting himself when he caught the smile on Whitley’s countenance.

“Well, you won’t forget,” laughed Whitley, “that I stood out of the contest and left the way clear for you. Lucky, though, that the College Widow took the bit between her teeth and bolted, eh, old man?”

“Hush!” whispered Roderick, throwing a warning glance over his shoulder.

“What are you two boys talking about?” asked Gail, with a bright smile from her seat at the back of the tonneau.

“Old college days,” laughed Whitley, as he changed the clutch for a stiff up-grade.

Arriving at Encampment, they found Allen Miller walking nervously up and down the platform in front of the hotel. The red blood in Roderick’s veins surged like fierce hammer strokes, with eagerness to once more grasp the hand of his old guardian.

He hastily excused himself, jumped from the auto and grasped the extended hand of his old guardian. He was soon led away by his uncle Allen, to the parlors of the hotel, to meet his Aunt Lois.

“Oh, I am so glad you brought Roderick here, Allen; for I just knew that I would get all fussed up and cry.

“There, there, Aunt Lois,” said Roderick cheerily, after embracing her warmly, “we are not going to be separated any more,—or, if we are, it will not be for long at any one time. I know the way back to old Keokuk,” said Roderick, laughing and hugging his dear aunt Lois again, “and you and Uncle Allen now know the road out to the Wyoming hills.”

“I declare, Lois,” said Uncle Allen, “you and Roderick act like a couple of school children.” He laughed rather loudly as he said this, to hide his own agitation; but it was noticed that his eyes were filled with tears, which he hastily brushed away.

It was a happy luncheon party at the Bonhomme Hotel, Whitley playing the host to perfection, his guests, besides the new arrivals, being the whole Shields family, Banker Allen Miller and his wife, and the young state senator, Ben Bragdon. And early in the proceedings Gail to her surprise learned that Roderick was no other than her little boy lover on the river steamer Diamond Joe some fifteen years ago, and blushed in sweet confusion when Allen Miller in radiant good humor joked about coming events casting their shadows before. Roderick went to her rescue and promptly switched the topic of conversation.

Toward the close of the meal Buell Hampton was expounding to the banker a great irrigation scheme he had in view—to bring into Encampment Valley the waters of French Creek and Bear Creek, the former by a tunnel through the Hunter Range, the latter by a siphon under the Great Platte River, whereby a hundred thousand acres of rich valley lands, now wilderness because waterless, could be brought into profitable agricultural bearing.

“So you are going to drive us cattle men off the face of the country,” laughed Mr. Shields.

“Better happy homes than roaming herds,” replied Buell Hampton. “What nobler work could we take in hand?” he asked. “The smelter and the mine are running themselves now. Let us then see what we can do to make the desert blossom like the rose. Mr. Miller, Mr. Shields, myself—we can all help with capital. Mr. Bragdon, there is a life’s work for you in this enterprise.”

“Lawyers always come in for fat pickings,” laughed Whitley Adams.

“General Holden,” continued the Major, “I am sure will want to join in too. Then Roderick—”

He paused and glanced in his young friend’s direction.

“Oh, I’m prepared to turn in all the gold from my mine,” exclaimed Roderick enthusiastically.

Indeed Buell Hampton had kindled the spirit of enthusiasm all round. The project was as good as launched—the dream of a generation of pioneers within sight of realization.

When coffee was being served on the veranda, the Major drew Roderick aside. They were seated alone at a little table.

“Roderick, my boy,” Buell Hampton began, “I want to see you tonight at my home—all alone. Come about eight o’clock. I have several matters of importance to communicate. During the afternoon I’ll be busy—I have some banking business to transact, besides I wish an hour or two with your uncle before my talk with you tonight. I am sorry to leave such a happy gathering, but am sure”—this with a gentle glance in Gail’s direction—“that the time will not hang heavily on your hands. Until eight o’clock then;” and with a tap on Roderick’s shoulder the Major crossed over and spoke a few words to Allen Miller, the two taking their departure a few moments later.

Roderick was mystified—less by Buell Hampton’s actual words than by his grave look and manner.

Meanwhile Gail had risen and entered the drawing room that opened by French windows off the veranda, and the sound of her voice at the piano broke him from his momentary reverie. He rose and joined her.