Immediately after Frank Kent and Jack left him, on the day of the round-up, Jim Colter had gone to the Indian village, but he could find no trace of Olive there. Curiously enough old Laska had disappeared from her hut several days before, so she could scarcely be held responsible for the lost girl. She had said nothing of where she was going nor when she expected to return. In Indian fashion, she had departed silently, carrying only a bundle strapped across her back.

Josef would give no information. Jim tried him with threats and bribes, but the boy insisted he knew nothing of Olive. He had not seen her in many weeks. It was useless to try to make an Indian betray a secret he meant to keep and Jim Colter knew better than to waste his time. The Indian is as suspicious and reticent to-day as he was in the old days, when no kind of torture ever wrung a sound from him.

Advertisements were inserted in the papers in the nearby towns, but no girl answering to the description of Olive was ever reported. She had vanished as completely as though she were dead. By and by Jim Colter gave up the search. He did not believe that they would ever see the Indian girl again.

Frank Kent kept quietly at work. He was very rich, and without a word to anyone, offered a reward for Olive's return, so large that had Laska seen it and had she had Olive in her possession, she must surely have given her up. Frank came often to Rainbow Lodge. The girls no longer thought of him as the guest and relative of their bitterest enemy, and the name of the Nortons was never mentioned between them. He used to take Jean and Frieda and Cousin Ruth off on long excursions to keep them amused, but Jack would rarely go with them. She seldom left the ranch and spent the greater part of the time alone, refusing to talk either of Olive or the prospect of losing Rainbow Ranch, which loomed nearer with each passing day. Jack was polite to Cousin Ruth, but she never expressed any penitence to her or to Jim for her wilfulness, which seemed to be responsible for Olive's loss. But daily Jack grew paler and thinner. She seemed much older and quieter than the radiant beautiful girl who had been the ruling spirit of the entire ranch. Everyone who knew her worried over the change in her, and most of all Ruth, who wondered if she were not somehow to blame for the whole disaster. If she had not opposed Jack's going to the round-up, Jim would have taken Jack with him and Olive would not have left the Lodge.

Jean and Frieda bore their troubles differently. Sometimes they would talk of Olive and again of the loss of their home and Jean would weep passionately for a few minutes and Frieda would cry softly. But they would soon cheer up and be convinced of Olive's immediate return and the discovery of the lost deed to the ranch. Jean even suggested that they need not perish if the ranch were taken away from them. She was quite sure she would be able to work and support herself and possibly Frieda. And for once Jack laughed, for, as she explained to her cousin, she and Jean knew nothing in the world except how to ride horseback, and ranch girls though they were, they could hardly be expected to join a circus.

But no one interfered with Jack. She took her long rides alone in spite of the cold weather, for they seemed to be the only things that would quiet her restlessness. When she was in the house, she was either searching in every conceivable crack and corner for the lost title deed, or else gazing listlessly out of the window.

One clear, frosty morning, Jack came in to an early breakfast, wearing her riding habit.

"You won't mind if I am away from the ranch all day to-day, Cousin Ruth?" she inquired quietly. "I would rather not say where I am going, but I shall be in no danger and I shall be home before dark."

Jean waved her fork pettishly in the air. "What in the world are you up to, Jacqueline Ralston?" she demanded. "Frieda and I awfully wanted you to go over to Aunt Sallie's for the day with us. You knew she had asked us and Cousin Ruth can't go, because she won't learn to ride horseback. I should think you would be tired of mysteries and secrets by this time, I am sure I am. Rainbow Lodge didn't use to be like this. It is the most changed place I ever saw," Jean sighed mournfully. But Jack made her no answer and waited until Ruth agreed to her request.

By ten o'clock, Ruth Drew was alone at the Lodge. The day began early at the ranch, as the winter twilights soon closed in and there were no lights but the stars to guide the wanderers over the prairies.

Ruth had assured the girls she would not be lonely. She had lots of work to do and letters to be written to the people at home. But somehow Ruth did not feel in the mood for any of her tasks. She was astonished at herself. Already the old village life in the East seemed far away; Rainbow Lodge and the vast, primitive West meant home to her now.

Outdoors the world looked utterly deserted. There was not a leaf, nor a blade of green grass visible, not a human being, nor an animal in sight, except old Shep, who howled dismally at having been left at home by the ranch girls.

Ruth slipped into a heavy old coat and went for a walk up and down the frozen fields in front of Rainbow Lodge. Old Shep kept close beside her, with his warm nose thrust in her hand. There were many things Ruth wished to think about and it would be easier to see clearly and to know what was best in the open air.

Ruth was exceedingly vexed with the overseer of Rainbow Ranch. What was to become of Frieda, Jean and Jack, in case they were forced to give up their home at the beginning of the New Year? Jack had confided to Ruth that they owned six thousand dollars in bank, beside the stock on their place. But Jack had no ideas for their future, and Mr. Jim Colter had not seen fit to discuss with their chaperon any plans that he might have for the girls. Of one thing Ruth was determined, whatever happened, she would stay with the girls. She had a little money and she could earn her living as a teacher if it were necessary, but the ranch girls should not face the world alone. Nevertheless, Mr. Colter should explain affairs to her more fully. It was all very well for him to argue that Rainbow Ranch could not fall into other hands. He should look at both sides of the question. Ruth had not seen the overseer, except for a few minutes at a time, since the evening before the round-up. He certainly had not treated her with proper respect.

The longer Miss Ruth Drew thought of her grievances, the angrier she grew. Of course there was nothing personal in the matter, but as the girls' chaperon, she deserved more consideration.

Ruth's cheeks were glowing by this time, partly from the cold air, but quite as much from temper. She had changed a good deal. Her complexion was certainly not sallow. She no longer wore her glasses, except when she wished to read, and her smooth hair was now blowing becomingly about her face under an old felt hat of Jean's carelessly put on.

But Ruth was not being altogether honest with herself; she did have a little private spite against Jim. He had promised to teach her to ride horseback weeks before and he had never referred to the subject again. She dearly wished to learn. She had wanted to ride over to return Mrs. Simpson's call and had only pretended an indifference to Jean, because she did not intend in any way to remind Mr. Colter of his forgotten promise.

Ruth saw Jim riding up the road that led to the Lodge and drawing herself up, gave him a stiff little bow. Of course she had known all along that a cowboy could not be a gentleman, but Jim had struck her as being rather superior, in spite of his bad grammar. However, no man worth the name broke a promise to a woman. Ruth turned her back on the rider and continued her walk with her head in the air.

Jim reined up in front of the frosty young woman. "Good morning," he said in rather an embarrassed fashion.

The lady's manner was not encouraging. "Good morning," she repeated severely, "I suppose you wanted to see one of the girls, but they are all away from the ranch."

Jim shook his head slowly, staring at Miss Ruth Drew with a puzzled frown. He had not the faintest idea why she was so haughty, and clearing his throat, continued to stare at her without a word until the silence grew more and more embarrassing.

Ruth's cheeks grew redder. She was irritated by Jim's silence and the expression of his eyes, which were as blue and direct as a young boy's.

"Do you want to leave a message for one of the girls or to speak to Aunt Ellen or Zack?" Ruth inquired irritably.

But still Jim did not speak.

"For heaven's sake, tell me, what do you want, Mr. Colter?" Ruth demanded. And suddenly Jim laughed.

"Well, I thought I wanted to speak to you, Miss Drew," he drawled in his slow, good-humored fashion. "But perhaps I had better not. I kind of thought maybe you would like me to give you a riding lesson this morning, but I can see now you wouldn't. I have been trying to get one of the ranch ponies broke in for you ever since I heard you wanted to learn to ride and now I have got a little broncho that is just about as gentle as a kitten. But, so long, maybe you'll be feeling more like it another day."

Jim rode calmly away, leaving Ruth looking as young and foolish as a cross child.

She did want a horseback lesson to-day of all days, when she was alone and a little blue. Ruth ran after Jim, entirely forgetting her dignity.

"Mr. Colter, please wait," she called. "I do want to learn to ride, dreadfully, and I should be awfully glad to have you show me how this morning, if you don't think I would be too much of a chump."

"Chump!" Ruth's ears burned. Jean's favorite word, "chump," had slipped out of her lips as unconsciously as though she had never been a New England school marm with a perfect horror of slang. She wondered if the ranch overseer had noticed her break.

When Jim turned and smiled down on Miss Drew, she was no longer the superior person he had just left.

"You'll learn to like it better in Wyoming, once you can ride," he answered kindly. "Why, when the spring comes, our barren prairies blossom like a rose and the birds are about everywhere. The ranch girls want you to get fond of it out here. There ain't any feeling much worse than being homesick for the things you left behind you. Now run along and rig yourself up in some kind of a riding habit of the girls. I will have the pony waiting by the time you are ready."

Ruth rushed into the house, wondering why she felt so absurdly young and happy all at once.

The young chaperon did not acquire the art of learning to ride horseback in a single lesson. But Jim was far too sweet-tempered to let her know that she was the hardest pupil he ever tried to teach. Both the master and pupil were elated when Ruth finally managed to sit straight in her saddle, without slipping to either side, and to hold her reins while the pony walked sedately up and down with Jim at his head.

Late that afternoon, Ruth was sitting alone by the living-room window. It was growing dark. The day had been a tiring one and she was feeling a tiny bit depressed. Jack cantered up to the house, gave her pony over to their colored man, and without so much as a glance at Ruth, strode past the living-room into her own room and closed the door behind her.

Ruth sighed. It did seem to her that Jack might have come in to speak to her, thinking that she had been by herself all day. Ruth was beginning to make up her mind that it was an utterly hopeless desire that she and Jack should ever be friends. Jack was so reserved and unapproachable and so bent on having her own way.

Ruth did not expect Frieda and Jean to return for another hour. Mrs. Simpson had promised to send some one over with them, so they could have a longer visit with her. It was growing spooky in the living-room, with only the dancing shadows of the fire. Aunt Ellen had forgotten to bring in the lamp and Ruth started toward the kitchen down the wide hall.

Outside Jack's door she heard a queer noise that startled her. It was a strange choking sound, as though some one were in pain. Ruth listened. The sound was not repeated, but the room was in perfect darkness and she became vaguely uneasy. She did not understand Jack's disposition. The girl had been so quiet and unhappy since Olive's disappearance and Ruth wondered what Jack was doing in the dark alone.

A knock on the door brought no answer and Ruth tried again.

"What is it?" a stifled voice asked.

"Won't you let me come in, Jack?" Ruth urged, feeling her uneasiness increase.

"I would much rather you wouldn't, I prefer to be alone," Jack replied in her habitual frigid tones. But Ruth heard a queer little catch at the end of her sentence that was unfamiliar.

Ruth had her hand on the doorknob and without waiting for permission she turned it and walked into Jack's room. "I think it is my duty to come in to you, Jack," she explained, in her self-righteous, lady-governess tones that Jack so much disliked.

The room was in almost total darkness and Ruth could catch only a faint outline of Jack's figure, drawn up in its usual proud pose. But to-night her head was drooping. The fire had burned out in the grate, except for a few colored ashes, but Ruth found paper and wood and soon brought it to a blaze. She said nothing and Jack neither moved nor spoke. But Ruth caught one glimpse of Jack's face, when the firelight leaped up into the room.

She found an old eiderdown wrapper in the closet and pushed a low chair near the fire, putting the warm grey gown over Jack's rigid shoulders and pushing her softly toward the chair.

"There, dear, sit down by the fire," Ruth said gently. "I did not mean to intrude on you and I will leave you by yourself, but you must try and not let yourself get ill because you are miserable. There may be a lot, you know, that you must do for Frieda and Jean."

Ruth could see that Jack had lost her self-control and was trembling with nervousness and cold, and turned to leave her, but Jack held out a shaking hand.

"Please don't go yet, Ruth," she pleaded, as though she were one girl talking to another. "There is something I want to try to tell you if I can."

Ruth sat quietly down. She realized all at once how much harder it is for some people to say the things they feel, than it is for others.

"It's about Olive," Jack declared after an instant. "I have been over to the Norton ranch to-day. I brought myself to ask a favor of Mr. Norton. I asked him to let me speak to the Indian boy, Josef, who works on his ranch. Mr. Norton consented, if I would allow him to stay in the room while I talked. Of course he thought I wanted to play him some trick about the ranch." Jack spoke indifferently. "I offered Josef everything I had in the world, a hundred dollars father once gave me and my share of my mother's jewelry, if he would only tell me what had become of Olive. He wouldn't tell." Jack shook her head despairingly. "I am beginning to believe Olive is dead."

"I don't think so, Jack, somehow, though I don't know," Ruth returned gravely.

"I suppose there is something I ought to say to you, Cousin Ruth," Jack continued quietly. "I ought to tell you and Jim that I am sorry that I went off to the round-up against your wishes. Of course I am sorry, it seems almost foolish for me to speak of it. I don't want to ask you to forgive me, because of course I shall never think of forgiving myself for losing Olive, no matter how long I live."

Ruth took hold of Jack's cold fingers. Jack spoke with perfect self-control, but Ruth began dimly to understand something of her disposition.

All at once, Jack's calmness gave way. She began to sob, as though she were torn in pieces. "Oh, Cousin Ruth, won't Olive come back ever? I used to think that having to give up our ranch would be the most dreadful thing that could happen, but now I don't. Olive was so gentle and so timid. I thought I was going to protect and take care of her as though she were Frieda, but instead of that it was I who led her into danger."

Ruth and Jack talked quietly after this, until Jean and Frieda came home. Ruth had entirely lost her school-teacher manner and forgot to preach.

Jack's reserve having once broken down, she told Ruth all she had suffered in silence for the past few weeks.

Though Ruth and Jack might have many conflicts of their two strong wills in the future, they would never misunderstand each other so completely as they had done in the past.