Billie slept later than her friends next morning. Even their movements about the room as they dressed did not disturb her, and when at last she opened her eyes the sun was pouring his rays through the small window of the cabin and outside was the glory of a mid-summer day; for it was June 21st, and was to be a memorable day in the annals of their trip.

“Dear me,” she exclaimed, “why doesn’t somebody repeat, ‘Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.’ I seem to scent coffee in the air. Chief cook and bottle washer, what have you got for breakfast?”

“Corn bread from Minnie’s corn meal,” replied Nancy, who answered to this title, “and shirred eggs, the last in our storehouse, and chopped beef——”

Billie jumped up.

“You lavish and wasteful young persons,” she cried. “How do you know we won’t need some of these things before we get back to civilization?”

“There are still baked beans,” said Nancy reproachfully. Nancy was a born cook, and, like other born cooks, she was only amiable when she was not interfered with.

“Go out and look at the scenery,” she continued, “and leave us in peace. We won’t starve. There’s a box of wheaten biscuit left.”

“I’d just as soon eat a bale of hay,” cried Billie contemptuously. “And there’s the Comet. He has to be fed this morning. How do I know that our provisions will last? If the food fails and the gasoline likewise, ‘et puis bon jour,’ as the song says.”

But Billie wasn’t really apprehensive. The day was too fine and her spirits too high.

“The truth is, we are all like the angels in heaven rejoicing over one sinner repented,” said Mary in a low voice, for Minnie could be seen approaching with a pail of water from the spring.

Toilets are meagre affairs in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains, and in a quarter of an hour Billie was fully clothed, washed and combed. Mary had closed the door of the cabin while she dressed.

“Don’t look out until you see it all at once,” she said. “It’s too wonderful to take it by piece-meal.”

Billie, therefore, had not an inkling of what was in store for her until she stepped out of the cabin.

Nothing on all her journeys with her father could equal the grand panorama which was revealed beyond the cabin door. They appeared to be in a world of peaks—“Mr. and Mrs. Peak, and all the young Peaks,” she wrote to her father later. In the far distance were snow-capped peaks and nearer were lesser peaks. The cabin was built alarmingly near the edge of a great caÑon, at the foot of which, hundreds of feet below, lay a little green valley amazingly peaceful in all this rugged scenery, in which cattle no bigger than pinheads at that distance, were quietly grazing.

Billie trembled to think what they might have climbed the night before without suspecting it. This was certainly a good place for a robbers’ nest. The cabin was perched on a shelf in the side of the mountain, and brave were the men, Billie thought, who dared to climb the path that led to it.

It was a gay breakfast party that gathered around the small table that morning and Minnie’s eyes glistened with appreciation at sight of the white cloth and the bunch of wild flowers in the center, which had been Elinor’s contribution to the breakfast.

Even Daniel Moore reflected the good spirits of Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids, although his hat and coat and all his luggage had been carried away on the train. He had talked a little of Evelyn with Miss Helen before breakfast.

“Don’t you think she is beautiful, Miss Campbell?” he asked.

“I certainly do; but she is very young and impetuous, and we must be extremely careful what we do, especially if you think she has been influenced against you in some way. Her father seems dreadfully stern and cruel. It made me shiver even to look at him.”

“He’s really quite fanatic about his religion,” answered Mr. Moore. “And you know what such people are—almost madmen; but he is crafty and shrewd and very cruel, and I would hate to involve you and the girls in any trouble. That is the reason I was hurrying on to Salt Lake City. From the itinerary you gave me, I judged that would be your next address, and I wanted to stop you before you got into difficulties.”

“The girls have set their hearts on seeing Evelyn again,” said Miss Campbell, carefully refraining from mentioning that her own heart had some leanings in that direction also.

But the call to breakfast interrupted the conversation.

Another hour and the front of the little cabin appeared like an inscrutable face on the side of the mountain, with closed eyes and sealed lips. No need to bar the door now from the sheriff and his men, for the birds had flown. But because she was never to see the little house again, and because, in spite of everything, she had known some happiness there, Minnie dropped the calico curtain at the window and fastened the wooden latch on the door. It was the last rites before she buried her old life forever in the mountains and began a new one with Jim in the East.

With an expression of grave determination on her face she took her seat beside Nancy in the front and never once looked back until they had rounded the curve of the mountain.

Nobody talked much on that morning ride. Billie was engaged in guiding the Comet carefully along the dangerous road which cut through a cleft in the mountain, and in many places was just wide enough for the car to pass. Sometimes they were on the edge of such dizzy heights that Miss Campbell held her breath and clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.

“I dare not even whisper,” she said to herself, “for fear of startling that child at the wheel.”

She contented herself with clutching Daniel Moore’s arm, but in her heart she doubted if even Jim’s salvation was worth the risk of so many lives. As for the girls, they had hardly realized the dangers of the ride, so absorbed were they in the marvelous scenery. The snow caps of the distant ranges gleamed pink in the sunshine, and deep purple shadows lay on the ravines below.

As the Comet mounted up and up the steep grade, Miss Campbell’s head became lighter and lighter, and her fears seemed to slip away. The high altitude had a strangely intoxicating effect on Nancy, too. She began to laugh just from the sheer joy of living.

“I feel like an inhabitant of Mars,” she said. “Just a brains and a stomach, and no body. I haven’t but two sensations—hunger and happiness.”

“Minnie, it’s ten minutes of twelve o’clock,” said Billie presently. “Are we anywhere near the Gap?”

The car had now turned a curve on the mountain and was going down grade.

“It’s just down there,” answered Minnie, “but I don’t see Jim,” she added, looking about uneasily.

“Well, really——” began Miss Campbell, and paused.

The notion that Jim might not be there to guide them out of this wild country had never come to any of them.

“He’s had a long ways to go to get here,” said Minnie. “He’s had to travel all night on horseback, but if nothin’ happens to him, Jim’ll keep his word. He ain’t never broke it in his life.”

This was reassuring in one way, but discouraging in another—if nothing happened! Why had it not occurred to them that many, many things could happen?

Miss Campbell looked reproachfully at Daniel Moore.

“Don’t be uneasy,” he said. “I daresay we can get a guide if Jim doesn’t show up.”

The road now took a downward turn so precipitate that they wondered how the emigrant vans of the Mormons which had once traveled this way had been prevented from rolling over the horses and pitching headlong down the incline.

But the Comet made the down grade slowly and deliberately. Back of them they could see the road winding around the side of the mountain. Suddenly a group of horsemen came into sight around the curve. They were mere specks of black against the white roadway at this distance, but Minnie recognized them.

“Jim!” she called, her voice rising to a high treble, “Jim, man, it’s the sheriff!”

And then, looking like some wild creature which had been summoned out of the dark places of the earth, Jim himself appeared, running down the side of the mountain, stooping low like a hunted animal. The sweat poured from his face; his clothes were torn in ribbons and his hands were cut and bleeding.

“You see, I didn’t break my word,” he said; “but it ain’t likely I’ll escape now. I’m too tired. I’ve been runnin’ for half the night.”

Minnie was sobbing bitterly.

“Cousin Helen, couldn’t we——” began Billie.

“But, my dear, how can we? What shall we do, Mr. Moore?”

“We couldn’t hide him in the car. Besides, if they caught him, it would get you into no end of trouble,” answered Daniel.

“He could have saved himself if it hadn’t been for us,” said Nancy reproachfully.

“We could disguise him in Billie’s polo coat with a veil and goggles,” suggested Mary suddenly.

Don’t blame these good people for what they now proceeded to do. Certainly it was the wildest, most reckless and dangerous adventure ever engaged in by six sensible, well-brought-up people, and two of them at least old enough to know better. Remember only that their sympathies were very much engaged, and that every cent stolen from the limited express was to be returned. While the horsemen were hidden behind a wall of rock, Jim’s identity was changed. He became a female of uncertain age in a polo coat, an automobile bonnet, goggles and a chiffon veil, which concealed his countenance. And sitting between Miss Campbell and Daniel Moore on the back seat he resembled any other motorist on a long trip.

They moved slowly down into the valley, and the horsemen as they passed lifted their black felt hats with quite a gallant air to Miss Campbell and her party.

And so Jim was snatched from the clutches of the law. As he will not appear again in this story it will probably interest you to know what became of this highly romantic, daring individual. After turning over to the railroad by a secret agent—none other than Daniel Moore himself—a most remarkable letter, printed below (which you no doubt have seen, since it was published broadcast in every paper in the country) and returning every penny of the money taken that day from the passengers, Jim disappeared from the world as a public character. Taking his real name, Jim Dolan, he became a private citizen, and at this very moment Jim and Minnie Dolan are tenants of one of Miss Campbell’s beautiful farms in the vicinity of West Haven. They have two children and are useful members of society.

And all because a lady asked a common thief to eat supper with her and treated him as a guest.

Here is Jim’s letter to the railroad company, written in a large, sprawling handwriting:

“To Whom It May Concern—and chiefly the Union Pacific Railroad Company: The undersigned was once Jim Bowles, train robber. I am a reformed man from this day. I ain’t got religion exactly, but the world is a better place than I thought it was. I made a mistake. There are some mighty nice people in it, after all. I herewith return moneys took; henceforth from now on forever more, amen, I lead a new life, so help me God! There are two kinds of repentant sinners. The ones that pray all day for forgiveness and forgets to work, and them that works so hard they haven’t got no time to pray. I’m the last kind. I’m going to work. Amen!

“(signed) Jim Bowles—that was.”