Before Marjorie had time to carry out her resolution to write to John Hadley, the mail came in, bringing her Jack’s letter.

“And guess whom I met at a dance at Cape May?” he wrote. “John Hadley! With the prettiest little girl you ever saw! He didn’t notice me at first, he seemed so absorbed in her.

“I kidded him about not grieving much, and you ought to have seen him blush. Just the same I’m glad he has pluck enough to find somebody else, for you don’t always give him a square deal. Not only about the vacation, but your senior dance, and a lot of little things. It would serve you right if you lost him. You can play with a serious chap like him once too often!”

“Play with him!” repeated Marjorie, to herself. Did it seem to others that that was what she had been doing? She had never intended to do so. A sudden wave of loneliness spread over her; she felt that if she lost John’s regard, she would be deprived of one of her truest friends. She hoped Jack had attached more importance to the simple episode than it deserved; and yet John had stopped writing to her. Was he so much interested in this new girl that he had forgotten all about her?

If that were the case, she decided she would not think any more about him. She was having a wonderful time on the ranch, living this out-door life and learning to be a more accomplished horsewoman. What more could any girl want?

And so she abandoned her idea of writing to John and gave her whole-hearted attention to the life she was living. To her great joy, a pack trip had been planned for the following day, a pack trip that would last five whole days, and take them up into the mountains. At last the scouts were to have a taste of real Western out-door life; they would ride all day long, make camp in the afternoon, and sleep under the stars at night.

To most of the girls, who were at the age when every new experience brings delight, the prospect was thrilling. From the time when the trip was announced until the hour of starting, they talked of little else.

“We aren’t allowed to take very much along with us, are we?” asked Alice, when the girls were collecting their necessary articles and wrapping them in their blankets and ponchos.

“No, for the poor pack-horses have plenty to carry as it is,” replied Marjorie. “Just think of the good time we are going to have, while they, poor things, have to do all the hard work!”

“I wonder how many pack-horses they will take,” remarked Alice.

“There will be six, Bob said,” answered Marjorie. “He is to be horse-wrangler, and Mr. Hilton and Art are going to help with the packing and putting up tents.”

“The Academy boys aren’t going, are they?” said Mae.

“No,” replied Marjorie again, for she had taken pains to find out all about the trip. “They want to save money, and they have been on some of the trips before we arrived. And the Judson girls aren’t going either.”

“Well, one thing good, we’re going to sleep in tents,” said Mae. “I made sure of that before I consented to go.”

“But we may freeze to death at night!” remarked Doris, who was the least enthusiastic of the scouts over the trip. “And suppose we are attacked by wild animals!”

“Oh, no one worries about that!” laughed Marjorie. “The men would take care of them, and it would only make a little excitement.”

“I’m afraid I don’t care about that kind of excitement,” said Doris.

Marjorie put her arm around the timid girl; she honestly felt sorry for her, for she knew that she could not overcome her fears.

“Doris, don’t you worry—Bob Hilton will take care of you. He’s used to the mountains, and sleeping out, and wild animals, and everything like that. But if you really don’t like the idea, why don’t you stay home with the Judson girls, and Mrs. Hilton’s sister? They’d probably be only too delighted to have more company.”

“No,” said Doris, resolutely, “I want to try it once, but if I don’t like it, I won’t ever go again. I’d never forgive myself if I found I really didn’t mind it, and that I had missed all that wonderful scenery just because of my silly fears.”

When the girls were ready, they went over to the cabin where the rest of the party was assembling on the porch. Besides the eight scouts and Mrs. Hilton, there were seven men—the three Hiltons, the two Melvilles, Kirk Smith, and a cook. It was what Mr. Hilton considered a large party for a pack trip.

The girls sat on the porch talking with the others while the horses were being loaded. The Judson girls seemed bent upon telling them all the discouraging points about such a trip.

“I suppose that this is you girls’ first experience in sleeping out,” remarked Maud, with a somewhat superior air. “I wonder how you’ll like it.”

Marjorie laughed, but she left it to Ethel to correct the girl’s supposition.

“Not exactly!” replied Ethel. “Three summers ago we camped for two weeks, and two summers ago we took a canoe trip and slept out every night for ten days—in all sorts of weather. And we have had various shorter trips. Don’t suppose that Girl Scouts—even Eastern Girl Scouts—are mere tenderfeet!”

“Indeed!” remarked Maud, evidently quite impressed.

“Then you’re quite used to sleeping on the ground, with your clothing on?” pursued Irene.

“We’re used to everything except the trousers!” laughed Marjorie. “And we’re certainly getting used to them now.”

A few minutes later the party were on their way. The weather was clear and warm, and the prospect for a fair week promising; the horses were fresh, and the riding smooth and easy. It was Mr. Hilton who first introduced a discordant note.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, “for there is really no danger if you follow in our tracks, but we are going to pass over some mines in a few minutes. The riding won’t be so easy for a while, but after that part of our journey is over, the rest is fine.”

“Oh, we don’t mind anything!” said Marjorie, cheerfully. “I think it’s all wonderful. Walt Whitman sang the glories of the open road, but he only spoke about tramping. Following a trail on horseback seems infinitely more alluring to me.”

“There’s another point we have in common,” remarked Kirk Smith, who had been riding behind Marjorie.

“Another?” repeated the girl, unaware that she had anything in common with this strange young man.

“Yes, you seem to share my desire in trying to avoid the members of the opposite sex.”

Marjorie laughed.

“I don’t try to avoid anybody,” she said. “But I also don’t run after anybody.”

“A very good rule,” observed the young man, approvingly.

They were going over the mines now, and saw a group of deserted cabins, inhabited only by pack-rats. Nearby were the mine shafts, and all about were pine trees, shutting out the light and making the place appear gloomy and forbidding. Involuntarily the girls shuddered. “Marj,” whispered Lily, thinking of the troop good turn the other had talked about at scout meeting, “do you think we ought to get off our horses and search those cabins to see whether there are any people in them in need of help? I once saw a movie where everybody in the house was dead except a tiny baby, and if some people hadn’t happened in by chance, it would have died of starvation.”

Marjorie saw that Lily was more than half in earnest, and she was too considerate to laugh at the suggestion. But she shook her head decidedly.

“No, Lil, I guess there’s nothing in there. And we mustn’t go anywhere that Mr. Hilton doesn’t go, because it might cave in, and if we’d fall—”

“Oh, look at this cliff, Marj!” interrupted Lily.

Ahead of them was a steep, rocky ascent, so narrow that the horses scarcely had room to go along in single file. To the right was a sharp bank, with a deep ravine below. Involuntarily the scouts gasped at the danger; for if their horses should slip, there would be no chance for their lives. But no one said anything until the worst was past; then Doris heaved a sigh of relief.

“Is there anything worse than that?” asked Florence, a few minutes later.

“Not on this trip,” replied Mr. Hilton. “But I will say that Girl Scouts are plucky!”

“They certainly are!” added Kirk, admiringly. The rest of the ride was comparatively easy. At three o’clock the party came to a stop in a pleasant place where a few pine trees afforded a little protection. The men began to unpack, and to make a fire, while the cook prepared dinner. Everyone was hungry; except for some chocolate and crackers, the girls had not tasted food since breakfast.

Later in the day the whole party except Mr. Hilton and Arthur walked up to a higher level to see the sunset and the surrounding country. To the scouts, who were used to such entirely different scenery in the East, it was a magnificent spectacle. They could see for miles in almost every direction. The flowers too were wonderful, so bright and so beautiful, seeming to grow right up against the snow drifts.

Marjorie and Daisy stood together with linked arms. Both had the same thoughts—how vast the great heavens were, how great the mountains, and how small and insignificant each individual was. Both naturally thought of Olive, and wondered whether they would ever find her.

Mr. and Mrs. Hilton had decided that it would be best for the whole party to go to bed early that night; so soon after the girls returned to the camp, they began to make their preparations. They had a big climb before them on the morrow, and they would need all the rest they could get. The fire, which had been replenished, was burning brightly, and the girls were glad to note that their tents were nearest to it, for already the air was growing cold. Marjorie was a little lame and sore from the riding, and she too was glad to go to bed. But if possible, she meant to get up early the next day, in time to do a little fishing before breakfast.

She fell asleep almost immediately in spite of her hard bed, and slept soundly all night. Awakening before five o’clock, she got up quietly, put on her boots, and hurried off to wash. In five minutes she had her line, and had started for the fishing hole.

Everything seemed strange and silent in the early morning; no one else was stirring, not even the cook. The sun, which was just appearing in all its glory over the distant mountain peaks, shone upon the snow and made it glisten like the tinsel on a Christmas tree. Marjorie watched the spectacle in speechless wonder.

After she had dropped her line into the water, she waited patiently for perhaps a quarter of an hour, but without any success. Suddenly she felt lonely. Why had she not asked Ethel or Alice to come with her? They were always anxious for adventure, and they would have loved the sunrise. The minutes dragged on, and she began to grow weary. Perhaps it would be best for her to give up her plan, if she could get back to the camp without being seen, so long as she did not seem able to catch any fish. But, glancing at the sun, she decided it would be too late now to hope to avoid the cook, and of course he would tell of her failure.

So she decided to remain on the bank a little longer, and hope for better luck. She sat still for a long time, allowing her thoughts to wander in many directions. She thought of the scout troop, and her plans for the summer, of the radio, of John Hadley and their misunderstanding, and most of all of Daisy’s sister.

Probably an hour had passed, when she was suddenly aroused by the sound of footsteps behind her. She looked up hopefully, but was only disappointed. It was the one person in camp whom she did not care to see: it was Kirk Smith!

“Good morning, Marjorie,” said the young man, pleasantly. “Caught anything?”

“Not yet!” replied Marjorie, dully.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“If you care to,” replied the girl, indifferently.

Kirk sat down and cast his line into the stream. It was only a minute later that he brought up a beautiful fish.

“How pretty!” cried Marjorie, with true admiration in her tone. He was subtly flattered, and in a little while succeeded in repeating his achievement. “Please show me,” said the girl, humbly, handing her line to him.

Kirk put down his line and placed a stone upon it to hold it in place, and, taking Marjorie’s, examined the hook.

“I guess you’ve been dreaming, young lady; your hook is empty,” he announced, laughing.

Baiting it for her from his own supply, he cast it in again, and handed the line back to her.

Kirk seemed in a talkative mood. He commenced a conversation on the art of angling, giving Marjorie brief pointers here and there, to which she listened with eager attention. So rapt was she in the subject that she temporarily forgot all about her former dislike for the man.

Before very long, Marjorie was more successful, landing four big trout, one after another. Her eyes shone with happiness; she felt very grateful to Kirk.

They were picking up their fish when it suddenly occurred to Marjorie to ask whether her companion knew anything about radio.

“A little—and I’m tremendously interested in the subject,” he replied.

“Well, if I’d tell you a secret,” said Marjorie, “would you promise not to laugh at me, or tell anybody?”

“Certainly,” replied the young man gravely.

Marjorie then proceeded to unfold the Girl Scouts’ plan in regard to providing one for the ranch. She wanted advice in buying it, and help in putting it up when it arrived.

“I know one young man who is employed by a firm that manufactures outfits,” she said, “but I don’t know the name of the firm, and I’d rather not write to him personally.”

“Well, I will write to the best firm I know if you want me to,” he said, “if you will tell me about what you want to spend.”

Marjorie named the price.

“And you would help us?” she asked, eagerly.

“I’d be delighted!” replied the young man, and they strolled back to camp together.