"By--by ourselves?" Mrs. Conrad's usually cheerful voice sounded a little frightened. "I couldn't find that trail in the dark; I'm not Li Yow, you know." "The horses will take you." "Oh, please let's keep together!" pleaded Polly. "Why can't we all go in the wagon the way you planned?" "Well, for one reason, the harness was in the barn and was burned," said Scott, with some irritation. "Herrick has a lot of old junk of that sort in his storeroom," volunteered Hard. "I believe you could patch up one. Those sounds have died away--the fight's over," he added. "Let's go back and have a look, and see what Herrick says." There was a pause and the two men consulted anxiously together. It was very still--not a sound from the direction of the hills. It really did look as though the attack had been followed by flight. Scott, against what he afterward called his better judgment, but what was really only a disinclination to change his mind, gave in, and the two men walked on ahead. "If we're going in the wagon, Hard, we've got to go by the road, and I don't stir a step on that road till I know whether this deviltry is over for the night or not. We'll camp down here for a few hours, and start by daybreak." "Why not? The horses need the rest and so do we. I say camp, by all means." Everything seemed harmless at the ranch house. Herrick, who had performed his unpleasant task, was studying the extent of the damage, which seemed to be confined to broken windows. When consulted, he approved of the idea of an early morning start in the wagon and believed that out of the odds and ends of harness in the storeroom something could be patched up and made to do. "All right then." Scott's voice was emphatic. "I'll fix the wagon first thing in the morning. And now, let's all turn in and catch a few winks before daybreak." "I don't believe I'll sleep a minute," said Polly, as the two women were left alone in the room which Clara Conrad had been occupying. "I'll throw my cloak around me and lie down on the couch. I feel awfully strung up, don't you?" "Yes," said the older woman. "But I'm going to try to sleep, and so must you." As a matter of fact, Clara did not expect to sleep. The meeting with Henry Hard had brought up old memories--memories both happy and sad. He had changed little, the tall, thin, sandy-haired man. It was good, oh so good, to have something back again from the old life! As she closed her eyes and put away from her the events of the day, old scenes came back with a clearness that they had not worn for many years. The old houses; the quiet, cultured, elderly men and women, the gayer young ones, herself and Hard among them; the dinners, dances, concerts; the summer days on the water, and the rides--all came back as though they had been but yesterday, and all on account of this one man who had played so important a part in them.