All day long the Comet had been plodding faithfully, and although he did not know it, and his five mistresses did not know it, it was really uphill work. Very gradual uphill work, only at the rate of ten feet a mile as they went westward, but the Comet was tired.

For the last fifteen miles Billie had noticed a complaining, whining little sound in his interior mechanism, but she urged him on with the mercilessness of one who drives machines, for they must reach a certain small village that night, which the map purported to be still ten miles distant.

About them, as far as the human eye could see, and many, many miles farther still where the human eye could not reach, rolled an infinite stretch of prairie. Like a misty, blue sea it spread before them. Here and there were groups of cattle grazing, and far back along the road they could see a black speck which they took to be a human being.

The five travelers were no longer homesick, and they were not tired. The peace of the plains had entered into their souls, and when the Comet suddenly gave an exhausted croak and stopped short, they exchanged good-natured smiles as if it were the commonest thing in the world for five lonely ladies from the East to be stranded on a Western plateau.

“There’s a screw loose somewhere,” said Billie calmly, jumping out and looking critically at the outer workings of the car. “Ladies, I must ask you to descend while I take a look at the Comet’s organs. His heart beats are not regular and his liver seems to be very torpid. The truth is, I think his condition is run down.”

“I should think it would be,” observed Miss Campbell, stepping nimbly to the ground. “Since eight this morning he’s been running it down.”

Billie, and Mary, who had been her pupil on the trip and was fast learning all that Billie could teach her, donned their “puncture coats,” as they called them. These were two long, brown linen dusters, the sleeves of which were secured at the wrists with rubber. They buttoned up from top to toe, and every vestige of dress underneath was protected.

Billie now became chief mechanician and Mary was her assistant. Together they opened up the front of the car and spreading a linen cover on the ground, Billie crawled under and fell to work.

You may think that Billie was unusually wise in her generation, but she had had a long training as a chauffeur and could pass muster with the best of them. However, she was not wise enough that evening to diagnose the Comet’s trouble. The two girls poked their inquisitive noses into every part of the machinery. They screwed and unscrewed and performed miracles of investigation in the Comet’s interior, but he persisted in the stand he had taken of suddenly becoming an invalid.

“I believe it’s the steering gear,” said Mary.

“No, child, listen to your grandmother talk. It’s this screw here that’s worn out.”

While they tinkered and worked, evening set in. There was a chill in the air, as there is always on these western plateaus after sunset. First one pale star and then another glimmered in the depths of the sky. And all the while the black speck on the road was drawing nearer.

At last the peace of the plains which had entered their souls became somewhat disturbed.

“This won’t do,” suddenly exclaimed Miss Campbell, breaking the long silence that had settled upon them. “This will never do in the world. Billie, child, can’t you fix that thing? It’s getting dark. We mustn’t be left in this lonely place all night. Hurry up, children. Do screw up something or other and let us be getting on.”

“I only wish we could,” exclaimed Billie ruefully. “I thought there was nothing about this machine I did not know, but I can’t find the trouble.”

“Besides,” pursued Mary, defending her captain, “it’s so dark we can’t see what we are doing.”

“What’s to be done?” cried Miss Campbell, spreading out her hands with a gesture of helplessness.

The girls looked at each other. What was to be done? In their infinite respect for Billie’s powers as a chauffeur, they had never conceived of a danger like this.

“We could make a tent for Cousin Helen of one of the rugs and use cushions for a mattress, and the rest of us could roll up in our steamer blankets and sleep on the ground,” suggested Billie with a certain thrill of anticipation in her voice. Deep in her secret soul she could not help enjoying this little adventure.

“Then, in the morning,” pursued Nancy, who was likewise a silent partner in this guilty pleasure, “we can go to the nearest farmhouse or ranch and ask for help.”

“But—” objected Miss Campbell and Elinor in one voice, and then paused for want of a better suggestion.

In the ocean of shadows, somewhere an immense distance away, one little light twinkled and blinked at them tantalizingly.

“Nancy and I might go over and ask for help where that light is,” began Billie.

“Never! never!” cried her cousin. “Oh! my child, what are you thinking of? Could you imagine for a moment I would let you and Nancy go wandering off into the wilderness? Better die together than apart.”

“But we won’t die at all, dearest cousin,” Billie assured her. “We’ll all live to tell what a wonderful night we spent together under the stars.”

“I think we’d better build a fire and get supper,” put in Mary.

This was an agreeable suggestion and settled the discussion without more words. In this high, dry climate appetites were too big to mention in polite society, and each one yearned for the comfort of her evening meal.

In another twenty minutes Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids had gone into camp. At the side of the road was a group of scraggy pine trees, and under these they pitched the blanket tent. While Billie and Nancy, armed with a hatchet, went in search of firewood, the other girls unpacked the alcohol stove and the tea basket and Mr. Moore’s box of provisions. In a little while the two foragers returned with their arms loaded with firewood. Their cheeks were glowing with exercise and there was a sparkling freshness in their happy laughter.

“We’ve turned wood choppers,” cried Nancy. “We found a dead pine tree, and lo and behold, we’ve converted it into logs.”

Together they built a fire on a most scientific plan and presently the fragrance of broiled ham filled them with pleasurable but subdued anticipation.

“Scramble the eggs now, Mary,” ordered Elinor as she brewed the tea.

“I think my girls are very capable,” observed Miss Campbell, watching the proceedings with much pride from her cushion seat near the fire. “If we live through this night we shall have much to tell about.”

“Just imagine you’re a gypsy, Cousin Helen,” called Billie, as she spread a lunch cloth on the ground. “And nothing ever happens to gypsies, although they live this way all the time.”

Nancy set the table with the jam pot in the middle for decoration, and presently they sat down like a company of hungry boys eager to be helped.

“Oh, how good things taste,” exclaimed Elinor. “I’m not a bit afraid out here in the dark. My only sensations are hunger and sleep.”

“Wasn’t it lucky we brought our steamer rugs?” cried Nancy.

“Wasn’t it lucky we came?” said Mary, going her one better.

“Aren’t we glad we’re living?” added Billie.

Miss Campbell tried to pinch herself awake. Was it possible that she, Helen Eustace Campbell, spinster, accustomed to every luxury in life, was about to lie down on the ground and sleep in a far Western, lonely, unprotected spot? She thought it was highly possible, and her heavy eyelids and unconquerable drowsiness urged her to hasten the business of getting ready for the night.

The four girls put on their polo coats and after building a big fire they rolled themselves into their steamer rugs and presently were sleeping as deeply and soundly as they had ever slept in their lives.

And now the moon rose and shed its radiance on them. The fire died down and the night grew deeper and stiller. A chill crept into the air and they snuggled closer under their blankets and slept and slept and dreamed.

Billie dreamed that the black speck she had seen on the road in the distance evolved itself into a man. He was riding a pony. She was sure of it, because in her dream she heard the sound of horse’s hoofs as they came nearer. Then the sounds stopped and all was silent again, a long, long silence. She remembered sitting up to see if the horseman had passed, but the invisible chains of sleep bound her closely and back she sank into slumber. But always in her dream she felt that some one was near. Had a light been flashed across their faces or was it the rays of the moon which hung in the center of the heavens like a great lantern, illuminating the landscape for miles around?

At last, after slipping into the immeasurable distances of time and space, which only a dream can compass, there came the sound of a motor. For a moment it was quite near, and then gradually it died away and the night was all serene again.

As the dawn crept up, Miss Campbell waked. But she waited, not wishing to disturb her sleeping companions. She lay with her back to the road, her face turned toward the limitless prairies which were now suffused with a rosy light. Then, trailing clouds of glory after him, the sun burst into view over the edge of the world. Never before had Miss Campbell seen a sunrise.

“Girls, girls!” she cried, “you must wake up and see this marvellous sight.”

They jumped up and stood in a silent, wondering row as the plains were flooded with light.

Suddenly Billie turned her face toward the road.

Throwing her hands over her head with a gesture of despair, she began to weep bitterly.

“Oh! oh!” she cried, “the Comet, my beloved Comet! He has been stolen!”