"This is the station," said Pachuca. "It is Jacob Swartz' store and the station as well." "Then something has happened to my letter. He never would have disappointed me like this," said the girl, despairingly. "That is quite possible. If you would let me serve you in this matter, senorita? I have a car at the house of a friend just out of town. I am driving to my ranch in it to-morrow. If you would let me drive you to Athens----" "Drive in an open car in that?" the girl pointed to the whirling sand outside. "How could we?" "Easily. Once on our way into the mountains we will leave it behind us." "Oh, thank you very much, senor, you're very kind, but if Bob doesn't come I can go to some friends of his, English people, the Morgans, and they will drive me over in the morning." She was conscious of a sudden desire to get away from this polite youth who stuck so tightly. It was all very well to let him amuse her on the train--that was adventure; but to drive with him through a strange country at night would be pure madness. She thought he stiffened a bit at her words. "English people? Oh, yes, undoubtedly that will be wise. Swartz can probably tell you where to find them." "Yes, of course." Polly was glad to see that he was going to leave her. "Thank you again, senor, for your kindness." "It has been a great pleasure," and the young man was gone. Polly clenched her hands nervously. Where, oh, where was Bob? Why hadn't she telegraphed instead of trusting to a letter? At this juncture her glance fell upon a small counter over which the sign P. O. was displayed. Behind the counter sat a stout man in spectacles--Jacob Swartz, undoubtedly. Polly accosted him timidly. "Has anyone been in from Athens to-day?" she said. "Athens? Sure, dere train come up dis morning; dey wendt back an hour ago." "Was Mr. Street here--Mr. Robert Street?" "No, joost the train gang. Dey wendt back when dey got dere mail." "Do--do they come every day for the mail?" "No, joost twice a week. Dere mail ain't so heavy it can't wait dat long." Swartz peered benevolently over his spectacles. "I'm Mr. Street's sister. I wrote him I was coming, but I suppose if he only gets his mail twice a week he hasn't had my letter." Polly bit her lip impatiently. "I want to go over to the Morgans--Mr. Jack Morgan. Can you show me where they live?" "Sure can I," replied Swartz, lumbering to his feet. "You can from the door see it." Polly followed him in relief, when suddenly the door opened and a little old lady literally blew in. She stamped her feet as though it were snow instead of sand that clung to her, and disengaged her head from the thick white veil in which she had wrapped it. "Mein Gott, it is old lady Morgan, herself," said Swartz, nudging Polly, pleasantly.