Down the road from the corral, Kurt chugged homeward in his crude little car. He had the manner of one whose heart is heavy, but whose resolution was still invincible.

A strange unaccustomed sound, a faint, far-away buzzing made him glance upward. Two sharp winged points were skimming through the air. He felt a thrill—the thrill of the unknown. He knew it must be one of the craft, foreign as yet to the hill country. In the distance he saw it swirl, loop and maneuver, spiral gracefully downward, skim the earth lightly, rise again and then descend from sight hidden by one of the hills.

In a few moments he saw it ascending again. It passed over him—so high up that it seemed but of bird size.

He was startled—lifted momentarily and dazedly from his plodding existence.

He had read of these ships of the air, but their reality had not been borne in on him until now.

He went on to the house. Three children rushed at him with football fury.

“Attaboy!” he cried, catching up Billy. “What is it?”

“Mother is in town with father and Mr. Hebler. Father just telephoned—”

Kurt had the feeling of something lifted—of help at hand.

“And,” continued Francis placidly, “father said you were to take us to town in the big car and we’ll all have dinner at the hotel and come back together. And he said to bring Aunt Pen. But you can’t now.”

“Run up to her room, Francis, and tell her I want to speak to her.”

“Aunt Pen has gone,” said the boy soberly.

“Gone! When—where?”

“I don’t know. She kissed us good-bye and she gave me a letter to give to you at dinner time.”

“Give it to me now, Francis.”

“No; she said she trusted me, and I told her I wouldn’t give it to you till she said.”

“Come with me, Francis,” said Kurt, drawing him away from the other children. “I want to talk to you as man to man. We must always protect women, you know. Your Aunt Pen went away because she thought it best for her. It isn’t best. Your mother is her best friend, and if she had been here, she wouldn’t have let her go. If I had the letter, you see, I might be able to find where she had gone. Then I could ask her to come back.”

Francis looked up at him oddly and said in his little, old-man fashion:

“Maybe it would be best, but father says that a real man never breaks his word to a woman.”

Kurt flushed slightly.

“I take off my hat to you, Francis. You are right.”

Not believing that Pen would start out on foot, he went down to the garage. The cars were all accounted for. A visit to the stables proved the same as to the horses.

On his way back to the house, he met Betty, who said to him in a stage whisper.

“Uncle Kurt, Aunt Penny is going to France. She went by way of Westcott’s. Is that the way to France? Don’t tell Francis I told. She is going to help the French and the Beligum babies.”

“Thank you very much, Betty.”

This was a clue. She had doubtless started toward Westcott’s expecting to get a lift to town. If no one had picked her up en route, he could easily overtake her in the big car, which Gene had now repaired.

“Go and tell the boys to get ready, Betty.”

Betty sped gleefully away.

“Oh, Mr. Walters!” hailed Mrs. Merlin, coming from the house, “when you see Mr. Hebler, tell him I put his diamond ring away. I’m awfully forgetful. I—”

“You put his diamond ring away? Where?” asked Kurt faintly.

“It was like this. I couldn’t get to sleep last night because a window was rattling in the hall, so I got up and went out to fix it. When I passed by Mr. Hebler’s door, I saw his diamond ring on a table near the door. Ain’t it awful how careless folks are! I opened a drawer in the table and slipped it in, and I clean forgot all about it till a little while ago. Maybe he’s got it on by this time, though.”

“All right, Mrs. Merlin, I’ll tell him,” said Kurt, hastily going in and up to Hebler’s room. The diamond fairly blazed at him in accusation as he opened the drawer.

And yet Hebler had told him that he had the ring! He hadn’t been in the house after he had said the ring was missing. And why had Pen said she took it? Maybe she had taken that method of returning it.

He went downstairs, pondering over the mystery. This time Marta stopped him, excitedly.

“Oh, Mr. Walters, Jo and I have been looking for you! Miss Lamont didn’t take the ring.”

“I know she didn’t. I just learned, Marta, that Mrs. Merlin saw it on the table and put it away.”

“Find Miss Lamont and tell her!” cried Marta in distress. “You see she thought I took it. She had reason to think so—the way I acted. She was protecting me.”

“I see,” he said despairingly. “I made her think you had taken it.”

“Come outside and see Jo.”

“Jo,” he asked desperately, when he had joined him, “do you know where she is? She has gone. I must know.”

“Kurt, you might as well try to catch a piece of quicksilver as Penny Ante, if she don’t want to be caught.”

“Have you the slightest idea as to where she has gone or where she might have gone?”

“Maybe I could venture a guess. I’ll have to know first why you want to know.”

Something more compelling than any emotion he had yet known kept down the anger that otherwise would have risen at being thwarted.

“I love her, Jo,” he said quietly.

“For how long, Kurt, have you loved her?”

“Since the first night I met her,” he said slowly and reminiscently. “When we camped on the trail. She lay asleep in the moonlight.”

“Have you forgotten what you warned me against that day I told you about Marta—about marrying a thief.”

“I was a simp, then, Jo. I had never been in love.”

“Well,” pursued Jo, “why didn’t you tell her you loved her in the first place? Maybe it would have helped. It isn’t much of a compliment to a girl to hang around and not say anything.”

“Think, Jo. I supposed until Marta came, that Pen was your girl. I brought her up here to see if she could be reformed for you. I sent you away to Westcott’s until I could tell if she were worthy of you.”

“Say, Kurt, I am the simp. I never thought of that. She didn’t think you really cared. Leave it to me. I’ll tell her.”

“But where is she? Don’t let the boys know, but Betty leaked the fact that she was going to France. I can’t think she was in earnest.”

Jo whistled.

“I am beginning to get glimpses on a dark subject. I’ll bet that is where he is making for, too.”

“He? Who?” he asked quickly. “Hebler?”

“Hebler! She’d rather dodge him than you. No; I mean that aviator who landed over toward Westcott’s a little while ago. I heard one of those fliers had been in town giving an exhibition. He was down to earth just about long enough to pick some one up. That was what she meant in the note she left for me when she said she was going by the Excelsior route.”

“How would she know him, and how would she get word to him to come out here?”

“She told me she spent the day in town—let me see—day before yesterday, I think it was. Said she met a man there she used to know.”

“She told me, too, she had been to town, but I thought she was only joking. I didn’t believe her.”

“There’s a lot you could hear about her, Kurt, that you wouldn’t believe right off the bat; but it’s not me who’s going to put you wise. Talk to Mrs. Kingdon about her. You’ll not get the chance to interview Penny Ante very soon, I imagine. In the craft she must be traveling in, there’s nothing about this ranch that can overtake her, but I’ll do my level best. Let me see! She won’t go to town. She’ll want to keep out of Hebler’s reach, of course.”

“Why?” asked Kurt. “Do you know?”

“I know more than you do about her. A girl has to have some one to confide in and Little Penny Ante chose me. You scared her out, you know.”

Kurt winced.

“They will naturally go in an opposite direction,” pursued Jo. “They may fly over to the next station and take the east-bound. I’ll take your car.”

“No; you take the children to town, and I’ll go in pursuit—”

“That’ll never do. She won’t try to dodge me.”