“Yes, I believe that. I reckon I understand Ira. He wanted me to send him a stran’ of my old red hair if I was in trouble and if you get that to him I’ll try to stave off dad for awhile. I ain’t fond of writin’ and somehow I’d rather not send none nohow. Anyway a clip of ha’r couldn’t git nobody into trouble.” “Into trouble? How could it?” “I say it couldn’t. Where’s your horse? Did you come on Hero?” “No, Chico brought me. I fastened him out front.” “Better bring him around here and water him before you go.” “So I will. I promised Bud I’d be back early. He didn’t quite approve of my riding around the country by myself anyhow, but I told him I’d be safe enough coming here.” “Well, I reckon you are. I hope so. He’s right, though, about your not staying out late. The days aren’t as long as they were. I’d like to keep you, or, better still, I’d like to go back with you. Miss Tina well?” “Yes, though I can see she grows more and more quiet and indifferent. Oh, if Steve would but come back. Louisa, has your father ever said anything more about his having a right to Hero?” “No.” Louisa made her monosyllabic answer, then went into the house hastily with the excuse that her cake needed attention. A little later Alison set forth on her return journey. She carried a long shining strand of Louisa’s hair which she had playfully braided with some pampas grass and twisted around her hat. “It won’t get tangled that way,” she said. With a wave of the hand she disappeared from Louisa’s eyes, not the only ones watching, for Pike Smith stood sullenly looking after her. The summer was on the wane and the days were shortening perceptibly. Alison urged on her little mustang as she approached the road through the woods. It was here alone that she felt any timidity. There were many possible dangers lurking in the silent forest. Suppose a wildcat should suddenly spring upon her, or a Mexican lion. Suppose some band of wandering Indians should be prowling about in search of booty, or, if not Indians, some of those lawless freebooters who haunted lonely places, and who, seeing a damsel thus alone and unprotected, might attack her and carry her off. “Faster, Chico, faster,” she whispered, and Chico’s short legs fairly twinkled along. But they were not swift enough to prevent the steady gain of a powerful horse, the thud of whose hoof-beats was now plainly perceptible. Some one was coming. Was it friend or foe? A great terror seized the girl, bending forward in her saddle and urging on her little pony who, though he responded to the best of his ability, could not cover the ground with the same speed as the approaching steed. Alison gave a frightened look behind her and the next moment a man snatched at her bridle. “Here, girl, get off,” said a stern voice, and, looking up, Alison saw Pike Smith’s lowering face above her. “Why should I get off?” she asked pluckily, though her heart beat fast. “Because I say so.” “Suppose I won’t do it.”