They sat up late that evening waiting for Alec to come with the mail. Mrs. Clyde and Blue Bonnet were somewhat uneasy, for they knew he had intended to be back in time for their late supper; and when ten o'clock came and no Alec or Shady appeared, they grew openly anxious.

Uncle Cliff refused to share their worry. "Shady's no tenderfoot," he scoffed, "and holding up the mail has gone out of fashion in these parts."

Blue Bonnet had no fear of hold-ups and did not care to express her suspicion that the ride had proved too much for Alec. She found reason to reproach herself: a forty-mile ride for a delicate boy like him was a foolish undertaking and she should have realized it. She had ridden that distance herself innumerable times; but she had practically been reared in the saddle and had lived all her life in this land of great distances. It was very different with Alec. The day of their picnic in Woodford came back to her, and again she saw the boy, worn out by a much shorter ride, lying white and unconscious before the fire in the hunter's cabin. She grew almost provoked with her grandmother for having insisted upon her practising instead of riding to Jonah as she had wished. If she had gone along, she at least would have known what to do for Alec in an emergency.

At eleven the moon came up, and rising out of the prairie simultaneously with the golden disk, came Shady, riding alone. A rapid fire of questions greeted him as he came up with the mail.

"Left the young fella at Kooch's," he explained briefly.

"What was the matter?" asked Blue Bonnet anxiously.

"Well, ye see—it was this way,—" Shady paused and then stood awkwardly shifting his sombrero from hand to hand. Blue Bonnet guessed instantly that Alec had sworn the cowboy to secrecy concerning the real reason for his non-appearance, and she refrained from further questioning. But her grandmother took alarm.

"Is he hurt—or ill?" Mrs. Clyde asked quickly.

For a moment Shady avoided her eyes, then resolutely squaring his shoulders he lied boldly: "No, SeÑora,—the mare went lame on him. He'll be over in the morning."

Mrs. Clyde drew a quick breath of relief; but Blue Bonnet was not so easily reassured. That Kooch had a dozen horses which Alec might have ridden if Strawberry was really disabled, was something her grandmother did not know; but the little Texan, used all her life to the easy give and take of ranch life, understood at once that Alec's real reason for staying at the Dutchman's was quite different from the one Shady had so glibly given. She knew better, however, than to press the cowboy, and let him go off to the cook-house without attempting to get at the truth.

"Grammy Kooch will take good care of him," said Uncle Joe; and with her fears thus set at rest, Mrs. Clyde proposed an adjournment to the house to read their letters.

The next morning Blue Bonnet was up before any one else in the house was stirring, and, dressing without arousing any of the other occupants of the nursery, she stole out of the house and made her way to the stable. Some of the Mexicans were already up, feeding the stock and doing the "chores," and one of them saddled Firefly. None of them wondered at Blue Bonnet's early appearance, for since her infancy she had ridden whenever the fancy took her, and now as she dashed out of the corral with Don and Solomon racing madly after her, the men grinned with satisfaction that the SeÑorita had returned to the ranch unchanged.

As she neared the Kooch ranch she saw a solitary horseman emerging from the gate. He was not looking towards her, and after a moment's scrutiny she began to whistle "All the Blue Bonnets." With a start of surprise Alec glanced up the road and at once galloped towards her.

"Is it really you?" he asked, hardly believing his eyes.

"Nae ither!" she laughed, turning Firefly and falling in with the strawberry mare—whose four legs, she noted, were as sound as ever.

"Well, you are an early bird."

"Lucky you're not a worm,—I'm hungry enough to eat one!" she said gaily. Under cover of the jest she stole a quick look at him. Yes, in spite of the sunburn he looked worn out and ill; he needed to rest and be taken care of. She refrained from asking how he felt and instead kept up a steady fire of nonsense, describing their dull day at the ranch without him. If Alec had felt any resentment at her coming for him, it melted under her light treatment of the situation; and by the time they reached the little "rio" he was more like his usual, interested self.

"I think I'd like to follow up this cree—er—river, I mean," he remarked, looking up the winding, willow-grown course.

"Not before breakfast, thank you!"

"Well, I didn't mean right this minute, but sometime," he corrected.

"We will, surely. I want to introduce you to the lovely spots of the ranch, just as you showed me the charming places about Woodford. It will be different from following the brook as we used to do there, but I think you'll like it. There are picnic places along San Franciscito that can't be beat."

"San Francescheeto?" he echoed; "where's that?"

"That's the name of this river," she replied loftily.

Alec threw back his head and laughed. "The name's bigger than the stream!" he declared.

"It has advantages over the brook, as you'll see. One of them is the swimming hole. Do you swim?"

Alec's eyes glistened. "I'm ready to learn."

"Well, get Shady to teach you. I'm going to make the girls learn. You boys and we girls will have the pool on alternate days,—won't it be fun?"

"The best ever. This is the first I've heard of it."

"I wanted some things for surprises," Blue Bonnet declared. "Isn't it odd your being here and seeing everything I used to talk about? It was a novelty then, but after this I won't have anything left to describe to you. What do you suppose we will talk about on our first jaunt by the brook next spring?"

Alec's face changed oddly. "Maybe there won't be any jaunt by the brook next spring—for me," he said, looking away from her startled eyes.

"Why, what do you mean?" she asked, and then wished she had not spoken, for she was suddenly afraid of his answer.

"I may not be,—you can't always tell," he stammered, looking as if he wanted to take it all back. "Let's not talk about it now, please," he begged, and Blue Bonnet gladly let the subject drop.

She rode on in silence the rest of the way, depressed and miserable. Alec's words were a revelation; she had not dreamed he felt so ill and doubtful of living. She had thought he would grow strong and well at the ranch, and already he was worse and spoke of his case as hopeless.

They were greeted with a loud outcry from the girls, who were perched on the top bar of the corral gate awaiting them. They had been somewhat startled upon arising to find Blue Bonnet gone, but Firefly's absence from his stall had explained her disappearance.

"Hurry up,—we're starving!" they cried; and Alec and Blue Bonnet, responding gaily, dismounted and hastened to the house with the rest, both glad to escape questions in the general hilarity and press of hunger.

"Grandmother," said Blue Bonnet later in the day; "I'm worried about Alec." It was just after the siesta, and seeing her grandmother sitting alone in her chosen seat under the magnolia, she had gone out for a chat. They were seldom alone these days.

"He does look tired," Mrs. Clyde admitted; "but it is natural he should after that long ride."

"It isn't that." Blue Bonnet shook her head. "I'm afraid he's—got something."

"Got something?" her grandmother repeated in puzzled surprise.

"Has something, if you object to 'got.' Has something the matter with him, I mean,—serious, you know."

Then she repeated the conversation she had had with Alec that morning. Mrs. Clyde listened in silence, but her eyes were troubled when Blue Bonnet finished.

"It may not be so bad as Alec imagines," she said with a forced hopefulness. "He has been outgrowing his strength, and being overtired, too, makes him despondent."

In spite of her words, from that time on Mrs. Clyde was more observant of the boy, and the moment she saw the first signs of fatigue she would make some tactful suggestion for his benefit, relieving him of the necessity of saying he was tired, yet bringing about the possibility of rest. And often with her own hands she would concoct some nourishing dish, hardly so piquant as Gertrudis' red-hot creations, but rather more healthful for a growing boy. Neither she nor Blue Bonnet voiced their fears to the other girls nor to any of the men, but, with a silent understanding, ministered quietly to the frail boy's needs.

A few days later the girls crossed the meadow to the pool for their first lesson in swimming. It was an odd little bunch that sat on the bank dabbling their toes in the limpid water. The hastily improvised bathing-suits they wore were of every style and color, and they looked as gay as a flock of parrots in their bright-hued raiment. Blue Bonnet dove off the big boulder in the middle, to the great envy of the others, who only consented to get wet all over after much persuasion and the threat of a forcible ducking.

Sarah took the whole thing as seriously as she did most things. "Everybody should learn to swim," she announced authoritatively as she sat contemplating a plunge. "Some day we might have a chance to cross the ocean, and then we'd wish we knew how."

"Do you mean to swim across the ocean?" demanded Blue Bonnet wickedly.

"Of course not," replied Sarah, unruffled. "But in case of shipwreck, you know, it's well to be prepared. I believe it should be studied as a science,—get the stroke, then do it. It's like bicycle riding, they say: when you once learn how to keep your balance you never forget."

Blue Bonnet demonstrated the stroke again and again, while the other girls watched and imitated as they sat or sprawled on the grassy bank. Sarah bent her whole mind to the acquiring of the proper arm action; lay face-down and kicked scientifically; then, convinced of her preparation for the feat, boldly entered the water.

"Good for you, Sallikins!" cried Blue Bonnet. "The others must be afraid of getting their feet wet." Then she sang tauntingly:

Thus challenged, Kitty stepped shrinkingly into the cold water. "If Sarah will swim from me to you, I'll try it after her," she bargained. It was perhaps a distance of three yards from where she stood, waist-deep, to the big rock whereon Blue Bonnet was perched, laughing at them; but the Hellespont could hardly have loomed wider to the anxious eyes of Hero, than did this narrow channel now appear to the four novices.

"All right," agreed Sarah with dogged determination. She shut her eyes, screwed up her face, spread her arms, struck out with her feet and started. If a hippopotamus had suddenly slipped off the bank there could hardly have been a greater splash; Sarah kicked madly, puffing, panting, and churning the water into foam. All to no avail. Before she had gone a yard she sank like a paving-stone to the bottom of the pool. Blue Bonnet, convulsed with laughter, went down after her, but it took the combined efforts of herself and Kitty to bring the struggling Sarah to the surface. Sputtering and choking and much puzzled over the failure of her scientific method, Sarah retired to the bank to get her breath.

"Kitty's turn," she said inexorably as soon as she could speak.

Kitty found the bottom no less speedily, but scrambled up by herself and went at it again until she was able to progress almost two feet before going down to "call on the fishes," as Blue Bonnet said. It remained for Debby to cover herself with glory. Disdaining science and the instructions of the teacher, she took a lesson from Nature and struck out like a puppy. Straight to Blue Bonnet she swam, struggled up on the big boulder beside her, gasping and breathless, but delighted at her own success.

"Bravo!" cried the girls, quite overcome with admiration.

Emboldened by her triumph the others tried again and again, and while not wildly successful were so far encouraged that they lost their first great fear of the water. And that, as every swimmer knows, is the first step towards victory.

"After you've all learned," said Blue Bonnet a little later, as they all sat on the veranda rail drying their hair, "we'll go over to the reservoir above Jonah some time and have a real swim. That is, if Grandmother's willing." She was glad she had remembered to add that last provision; it would have won an approving look from Aunt Lucinda.

"Then we'll have to have real suits," remarked Kitty, beginning then and there to plan a fetching costume for the occasion. "I'll write home for one right away."

When the plan was laid before SeÑora she made a brilliant suggestion. "Why not make your own suits? We may be able to find material in Jonah, and Benita and I will superintend."

Sarah beamed delightedly, but Blue Bonnet looked doubtful. "Will it be as hard as knitting a shawl?" she asked, ignoring the giggles her question provoked.

"Lots harder, you goose," said Kitty. "But if you begin it you'll probably have it finished for you by the same person who did the shawl."

"Then I don't mind!" Blue Bonnet agreed promptly. "We'll go to Jonah to-morrow—" adding before the words were fairly said, "—may we, Grandmother?"

"Perhaps," was all she said; but her eyes held more encouragement.