While the girls busied themselves in the cabin, Kirk went to look after the horses, and to find himself a place for the night. The ground was still wet, but he felt that with the protection of his poncho he could manage for one night.

“It does seem selfish to keep this cabin,” remarked Marjorie, when they were alone, “when the ground will be so wet for Kirk. Still, there are two of us, and only one of him. And,” she added, “besides, we’re girls.”

“I don’t really think Kirk minds,” said Daisy. “He isn’t one bit selfish.”

“No, he isn’t! And by the way, Daisy, don’t you like him a whole lot better than you did at first?”

“Yes, only that I always did like him. And I never blamed him in the least for running away from Irene Judson so persistently.”

“Well, he’s been awfully nice to me lately,” said Marjorie. “When we were fishing together yesterday morning, I told him about the radio, and he is going to order it for me when we get back to camp, and will help put it up when it comes.”

“That’s great!” exclaimed Daisy. “Do you know, Marj, I was hoping he would be the one you would ask. He seems so capable. But don’t you hope we get it soon?”

“I certainly do!” replied Marjorie. “But I guess we will, for everything seems to be going so well with the troop. Only—we haven’t found another troop good-turn!”

“No, but we soon will, somehow,” said her companion, cheerfully. “We always do. I’ll leave it to you. You’ll find a forest fire to stop, or a doctor’s life to save, or—”

“That will do!” commanded Marjorie, sternly. She was too modest to listen indefinitely to an account of her previous good deeds. “Come, let’s go sit in the doorway, and watch for Kirk.”

They sat for a short time, watching the fading light in the sky, and talking little. At last the young man returned, bringing his folding cup filled with water for them.

“There’s a spring not far away,” he said, as he handed Marjorie the cup. “Everything’s very convenient, and we’re lucky! After a good night’s sleep, we ought to get to the camp in fair time tomorrow.” “Well, I hope we don’t see any bears tonight,” remarked Daisy. “Although Marj and I would be pretty safe. But you must be careful, Kirk!”

“Oh, I’m a light sleeper,” he replied, carelessly. “But I believe I would like a fire. Suppose I make one now, and we can sit around it till time to turn in? Then we wouldn’t have to go into that stuffy cabin.”

The girls agreed heartily with the plan, and Daisy went into the cabin to bring out the remaining dry wood. Before long a bright cheerful blaze was crackling in front of them.

For some time no one said anything. Each was absorbed in his or her own thoughts.

Still gazing into the fire, Kirk suddenly broke the silence by speaking about himself.

“Girls,” he began, “you have been wondering about me, I know, and thinking I am rather queer. Well, I guess I am! When I came to the ranch early in the summer, I felt as if I would never want to talk to anybody, or make friends with anybody again. But lately—through the influence of several of the boys, and of you two Girl Scouts, I’ve begun to feel more like a human-being again. And so now that you are under my care tonight, dependent as it were upon me, I want to tell you a little bit about myself. In fact, I just can’t keep it any longer: I am Olive’s husband!” “What? What?” cried Daisy, staring at Kirk as if she thought he was crazy.

The young man had not meant to blurt out his announcement so bluntly; he was sorry to have startled the girls as he must have done.

“Yes,” he went on to explain, “you see my name is Smith—Thomas Kirk Smith—and when I came out here I began to use the middle name instead of the first, so that I might forget a little bit. But it didn’t do any good. I’ve just been bitter—I hated everybody. Then when I met you, Daisy, and saw how self-controlled you were, with the same trouble as mine, I began to be ashamed.”

As he spoke of his sorrow in his quiet voice, without even looking at the girls, both were even more impressed by his suffering than by the strangeness of the fact that he was the man who, on account of Daisy’s sister, was so often in their thoughts. The whole thing was incredible: that here on this lonely ranch in Wyoming, they should find, not the girl whom they were seeking, but her husband! They knew now that Kirk was speaking the truth, and yet it seemed miraculous.

“Yes,” said Daisy, after the first excitement of the revelation was over, “of course I noticed that your name was Smith—for no matter how often I hear it, it always startles me. But, knowing that your first name was different, I never gave it a second thought. For who would ever think of finding you here?”

“It was a coincidence,” he said. “I was so run down last Spring that I just had to go somewhere. And I’d been out here before, not on this ranch, but in the same country, so I thought this would be the best place. Now I’m glad I did.”

“And you have heard nothing?” asked Daisy, softly.

“Nothing,” replied Kirk, disconsolately. “Daisy, we must face the facts: there is nothing to hear! For if Olive were alive, she would surely have come back to me.” His voice broke, and he added another sentence almost to himself. “It was such a little quarrel.”

“Yes, I know,” whispered Daisy, the tears running down her cheeks.

Marjorie, who had always shared Daisy’s trouble as her very own, now seemed to enter more sympathetically than ever into the grief of these two people, whom she admired so much. Desperately, she searched her heart for some words of comfort to utter, but in vain. She could not express what she felt.

“I wish you would tell me more about Olive,” said Kirk, gently. “You know that I had known her for such a short time—only a week at a summer resort—before we were married. And then it was only a little over a month later that—that—Olive wasn’t the sort of girl to harbor resentment, was she?”

“No indeed!” exclaimed Daisy. “She always had a fiery temper, but she was over it in a minute when she got angry. And she’s very forgiving.”

“I’m thankful to hear you say that, Daisy. Now I want to ask you a question—you must forgive me for putting it, but it worries me so—do you suppose that Olive could have committed suicide?”

Daisy winced at the question—the idea was so horrible. How could her sister think of such a thing, with the prospect of such a happy life before her! Daisy glanced at Kirk; now that she understood him, he seemed to possess all the qualities that the normal girl would desire in a husband. And Olive was the sort of girl to appreciate this. No, the thing was inconceivable; whatever fate Olive had met, it could not have been a suicidal death; of this her sister was sure.

“No, Kirk; she isn’t that kind of a girl. She wouldn’t really want to, either. I think you can be satisfied about that.”

“Really?” cried the young man, hopefully. “Anything but that! For then I should feel that I had killed her, and that it was all my fault.”

“No, if she is dead, it’s from some cause beyond either your or her power.” “Yes, I suppose so,” said Kirk, slowly. “You know she told me as she went out of the door she was ill. And to rush out to exposure, without proper protection—that would probably kill her.”

“But if she were dead, we would be so likely to have heard about it,” objected Daisy, returning to her former hopeful attitude.

“I think the same thing would apply if she were alive,” said Kirk, sadly. “She could have died in some lonely place, or have fallen into the river, and perhaps nobody would know a thing about it. I watch the papers for accidents to unidentified people, but I have never found any description at all like her.”

Although Marjorie had taken practically no part in the conversation, the strain of it all was telling upon her as well as upon the other two. She fidgeted uneasily; the growing darkness, the loneliness, the gloominess of the subject depressed her so that she feared that she too might burst out crying. Kirk noticed her nervousness, and knew that it would be best to talk of something else.

Skillfully turning the conversation to scout topics, he drew both girls’ thoughts back to happier channels. He went into details about the radio, making it seem so fascinating that they could hardly wait for their own instrument to arrive. Finally, both Marjorie and Daisy realized that they were sleepy, and that even the prospect of a hard bed did not keep them from looking forward to their night’s rest.

“You’re sure they’ll wait for us to go up that mountain tomorrow?” she asked Kirk, as she and Daisy prepared to go into the cabin.

“Positive!” replied the young man. “But we must start early in the morning!”

“We will!” said Marjorie.

“And it’s going to be a glorious day,” added Daisy, gazing in admiration at the stars.