JEAN stayed upstairs, but when Jack came back with the wraps she found Ruth and Jim gone, leaving word that she and Olive were to put Frieda to bed without waiting for her, as she might come back fairly late.

Over in a quiet corner Jack saw Olive and Frieda still with the Harmons. In a moment she meant to join them, but first she must conquer a queer sensation that overmastered her. Jack bit her lips and her eyes clouded. Never before in her life had she known what it was to be overtaken by a premonition; now she felt almost ill, she longed to escape and never set eyes on the Harmons again. With all her soul she longed for Rainbow Lodge and wished they had not rented it to strangers.

But Olive had seen Jack, and Donald was crossing over to ask her to join them. Jack closed her eyes, opened them, shrugged her shoulders and determined to think no more foolishness that evening.

When she reached Elizabeth Harmon's side, the girl caught her hand eagerly and pressed it against her thin, hot cheek. "I have been telling mother I knew none of you were pleased at our coming to the Yellowstone while you were here," she declared pettishly, "and I suppose I will be in the way; but please won't you just say you are glad to have me? I don't care about the others."

"Elizabeth," Mrs. Harmon remonstrated; but Jack leaned over and gently kissed the spoiled girl who had taken such an overwhelming fancy to her. At the same moment a wave of remorse swept over her that she had not at once been happy at her opportunity to add something to Elizabeth's pleasure. How pitiful it was that the young girl so longed to take part in their outdoor amusements, when she was able to walk only a few yards at a time. Suddenly a feeling of thankfulness for her own health and vigor rushed over Jack, and in that moment she determined, while they were thrown together, to devote herself utterly to her new friend; for Jacqueline Ralston possessed many of the traits of character of a brave boy or man. Weakness and a need for her protection made an instant appeal to her. It was her first instinct in caring for Olive and it was responsible for what she afterwards did for Elizabeth Harmon.

"I am truly glad you are here with us, Elizabeth," Jack could now reply honestly. "But haven't you enjoyed your two weeks at Rainbow Lodge, and hasn't it done you good? I felt so sure you would soon grow stronger there, perhaps because I love the ranch so dearly myself, and have been so well and happy there."

Elizabeth shrugged her delicate shoulders until her loose mass of red-gold hair almost covered her face. "Oh, yes, I like the ranch well enough and I suppose I am better," she returned. "But I thought father came west and rented your house so I might be out of doors all the time, and go about wherever I wished, and now I am hardly allowed to get out of sight of the Lodge. As soon as you went away such a queer lot of people turned up at your ranch—a gypsy with his wagon and family. They are camping somewhere on your place, because they are always being seen. One day Don and I saw them near the stump of the old tree where you and Olive made the compact of friendship with us."

Jack opened her lips to speak, and then changed her mind, Olive turned from talking with Donald to stare in amazement, when from the depth of Mrs. Harmon's lap a small voice said sleepily, "I bet you, Jack, Elizabeth is talking about those same gypsies who came to our ranch and told our fortunes. I thought Jim said he would not have them on our place," Frieda ended.

Jack blushed. She too had guessed "Gypsy Joe" must be the intruder, and intended to report the matter to Jim, but she did not wish any discussion of the subject with the Harmons.

"Oh, but gypsies aren't the only queer people who have come to the ranch," Elizabeth continued; "there are other rough looking men whom father spends hours and hours with. He——"

"Elizabeth," Mrs. Harmon interrupted sternly, "how many times have I asked you not to talk of your father's affairs with strangers? He would be extremely angry with you for telling Miss Ralston this nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense, it's the truth and you know it," Elizabeth answered. "I believe father sent us away from Rainbow Lodge at this time because he wanted to get rid of us. And he promised me he would not attend to any business while we were on the ranch. Now two men are coming on from the East to see him, and he is as worried and excited over something as can be and won't tell us what it is."

Mrs. Harmon lifted Frieda from her lap. "Donald, will you please persuade Elizabeth not to bore Miss Ralston with our family history?" she asked.

"Oh, shut up, Elizabeth. Why do you never do as mother asks you?" Donald muttered, and Elizabeth began to cry like a spoiled baby.

Jack, Olive and Frieda kept their eyes on the ground; not being accustomed to family quarrels they felt exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Suppose we say good night, Donald, dear," Mrs. Harmon suggested. "I am sure Elizabeth must be tired. Miss Ralston, I believe my husband has written your overseer of the presence of this gypsy on your ranch. In regard to Mr. Harmon's present worry and excitement, we have not mentioned it to Elizabeth, as we try to keep our annoyances from her; but her father has recently lost a good deal of money in Wall Street, so he is naturally concerned."

"I am sure I am awfully sorry," Jack replied, not knowing exactly what she should say. But five minutes later she and Olive and Frieda breathed a sigh of relief—the Harmon family had finally departed to their rooms and the ranch girls were free to go to bed.

Half an hour later Donald Harmon was still in his mother's room. Elizabeth was fast asleep in the room adjoining.

"Is there any way on earth to make Elizabeth stop talking when she shouldn't, Don?" Mrs. Harmon sighed. "Poor child, she is so difficult! I was wretchedly uncomfortable, not knowing what she might tell to-night."

Donald's handsome face clouded. "She don't know anything, so she can't tell anything," he answered. "I almost wish she did; then the responsibility would be off my conscience. And I know father would forgive Beth anything."

Mrs. Harmon changed color. "Well, he wouldn't forgive you or me, son," she replied. "And, after all, this isn't our affair, and we must not interfere with your father's plan." Don shook his head, unconvinced by his mother's argument. "I don't know whether you are right or wrong in this, mother," he answered. "It seems to me this time we ought to interfere. By keeping silent and not letting the Ralstons know of our suspicion, we are behaving pretty dishonorably." Donald lifted his shoulders and shook them as though he were trying to shake off the burden of the idea that oppressed him. "Perhaps father's great find will come to nothing and he has been deceived about the whole business," he added hopefully. "For my part I wish things would turn out that way. I don't like to be mixed up in this."

Mrs. Harmon looked worn and older. Before no one but her son did she drop her society mask and show her true self. "Dear," she protested, "remember you and I can bear being poor, but think how dreadful life would be for Elizabeth if we did not have a great deal of money to do for her."

Don sighed. Always he had been expected to sacrifice everything for his sister, and now he was to be asked to sacrifice his honor as well. But he wondered why his mother should talk of their being poor because his father had lost a portion of his money in Wall Street. His mother had a wealthy aunt who had always done everything for them, and he and his sister were supposed to be her only heirs. It wasn't very probable that Aunt Agatha would lose all her fortune or go back on them.

Donald bent to kiss his mother good night. "For goodness' sake, let's don't worry over this scheme of father's until we know it is going to amount to something," he argued. "We do want to have a good time on this trip—the ranch girls are simply great!"

While all this was transpiring, Ruth and Jim Colter were rowing along the northern border of Yellowstone Lake toward a small island known as Pelican Roost. Earlier in the afternoon, on seeing a number of the pelicans floating like a fleet of boats on the face of the water, Ruth had idly suggested that she would like to see them at night, as they must look, roosting on their island, like wicked old ghosts. And Jim had planned then to bring Ruth out for a moonlight row alone.

When he returned to find Ruth waiting on the verandah for him, he had made no explanation of his long absence and, as his face was unusually serious, Ruth had asked no questions. In the hour of his absence the face of the world had changed for Jim Colter! Before going to the hotel clerk for the letters that had been sent him from the Rainbow Ranch, Jim had made up his mind to tell Ruth he loved her to-night, and to try to make her love him in return. The weeks of the caravan trip had ended a fight with himself. Jim had finally decided that a man's past need have nothing more to do with him than an old garment that has been cast aside forever. He would tell Ruth he cared for her and they would begin a new life together. But this was his idea before reading the letters from the Rainbow Ranch.

Jim now rowed on in complete silence, while Ruth idly wondered when he was going to make up his mind to talk and what special thing he could wish to tell her alone. As Jim always took a long time to put his thoughts into words she felt no impatience.

"I had a letter from that Harmon man," Jim remarked abruptly. It was so different a speech from anything she expected him to say that Ruth felt irritated. Wasn't it rather stupid for Jim to have brought her out alone on the lake in the moonlight to talk of the Harmons? "Did you?" she returned indifferently, slipping her white fingers in the water to see if she could touch one of the yellow water lilies that floated near.

Jim heaved a sigh so deep that Ruth laughed. "I never did want to rent our Lodge to the fellow," he protested bitterly. "I knew nothing but trouble could come from a New York money grabber."

"Why, Mr. Jim, you are unfair," Ruth declared. "You know you were as anxious, after the first, to come on this caravan trip as the rest of us. And we couldn't have come without the Harmon money. I am sorry you haven't enjoyed it."

"I have liked it better than anything I ever did since I was born, Ruth Drew," Jim replied so solemnly that Ruth was frightened into silence. "But I suppose we might have managed it somehow without introducing the plagued Harmon family onto our ranch. What do you think this Harmon man has written me?"

"I am sure I don't know—what?" Ruth asked a little irritably.

"Oh, nothing but a cool offer to buy Rainbow Ranch off our hands at any reasonable figure we choose to sell it for. He says he has gotten so interested in the ranch, and thinks it such a fine place for his daughter and son, that he would be willing to pay what our neighbors might think a fancy sum for the place."

For just a half second Ruth's heart stood still, or felt as though it had. She saw Rainbow Ranch, which had been saved for them once by Frieda's discovery, slipping away again, the girls scattered, herself back in the old Vermont village away from this wonderful western life, and Jim—she wondered what would become of Jim.

Then Ruth came to her senses. "Well, Mr. Jim, I don't see anything so dreadful in Mr. Harmon's offer. I don't wonder he is in love with our ranch, but we don't have to sell it to him because he wants it, do we? Jack would never think of it."

"It isn't all just what Jack wishes, Miss Ruth," Jim answered sadly. "It is because living on the ranch with you and the girls means more than everything else in the world to me, that it kind of sinks into me that we oughtn't to turn Mr. Harmon's offer down without thinking and talking it over. The ranch don't pay such an awful lot these days—just barely enough to keep things going; and maybe the girls ought to have advantages like schools and traveling. You know better than I do, Ruth. Won't you try and help me think this thing out and decide what is best for them?"

For a moment Ruth was silent, knowing in her heart why Jim took Mr. Harmon's offer so seriously. All his own hopes and plans depended on his refusing it. If he were no longer the overseer of the Rainbow Ranch he would have nothing to offer the woman he loved, not even a bare support. The money he had saved for himself in the past years would not keep them six months. Therefore, since Jim Colter's sense of honor was stronger than any selfish desire, he feared that his own wish to turn down Mr. Harmon's offer without wasting a moment's consideration on it was simply because it would serve his own purpose and not because it was best for the ranch girls.

"I don't believe it will be best for the girls to sell the ranch, I don't honestly," Ruth replied. And then under her breath, "I promise you I am not thinking of us."

What Ruth meant by her use of the word "us" Jim did not know. Of course she too might lose her occupation if the girls gave up the ranch. But whatever she meant the word sounded pretty good to him.

"Of course it would do no harm to talk over the proposition from Mr. Harmon with the girls," Ruth added indifferently; "but I am as sure as I ever was of anything in the world just how they will feel about it. Don't let's speak of it now, though, Mr. Jim. Mr. Harmon can't expect you to reply to his letter at once, and we don't want any business to interfere with our first days in wonderland. Was there anything else in Mr. Harmon's letter that annoyed you?"

"Yes—no," Jim answered shortly. "At least Harmon wrote that he had some private business with the fellow who came junketing around in a gypsy cart to our ranch one day, and he presumed I wouldn't mind the man's staying on the place. Can't imagine what Harmon can want of a tramp like 'Gypsy Joe.' He never would have written me about him, I suppose, if he hadn't known the boys at the ranch would tell me as soon as one of them could get up the energy to write." Jim again relapsed into silence. The moon went behind a cloud and the island was hardly visible ahead. Ruth decided that the evening had been a disappointing one. She wondered why the thought of this half-gypsy, half-gentleman tramp should give Jim the blues. She had relieved his mind of the idea that it was his duty for the girls' sake to sell them out of house and home.

"Let's row back to shore, Mr. Jim," Ruth said coldly, in the aloof manner she still knew how to use when things did not please her. "I am getting tired and sleepy, and I don't want the girls to worry about me."

Jim silently turned his boat to shore. After all, perhaps he had been mistaken in the idea that a man can rid himself of his past. If Ruth knew why this fellow, whom she heard spoken of as "Gypsy Joe," could send the cold shivers up and down his spine, would she ever use the tiny word "us" in the tone that she had spoken it a while before?

When Jim and Ruth said good night, instead of feeling a closer bond of affection, they were colder in their manner toward one another than they had been since the hour the caravan first rolled away from the Rainbow Ranch and the days of their good comradeship began.