"It's the mystery of them. You have the feeling that things are going on in and about them that you don't know--that nobody'll ever know. I remember the first time I climbed a big mountain--up in Colorado. When I was about three-quarters of the way up I looked down on one of those little mountain lakes--just as blue as that ring of yours--set in the brown of the mountain. It made me feel as if I'd struck gold. I couldn't believe that anybody but the Indians and I had ever seen that lake." Scott was leaning against the post of the veranda, still looking at the mountains. Suddenly he turned. "Little girl, I think you'd better be going in and getting a few hours of sleep," he said. "Four o'clock comes along awfully early in the morning." Polly said nothing. She picked up the serape again and turned to go. Then she came back again, holding out her hand. "Mr. Scott, I haven't said a word to show that I'm grateful for what you did to-night. You saved my life, didn't you?" Scott took the hand and smiled down into the serious eyes. "I wouldn't go that far," he said. "Those fellows who horned into our fight did that, I reckon. I sure tried to, though, if you'd like to shake hands on that." "You risked your own life, anyhow, so please don't spoil my story." "Well, put it that I'll be delighted to save your life any time you say, even if I get my hide full of holes for doing it. How's that?" "That's all right," agreed Polly, heartily. "You may call me at twenty minutes of four, if you please," and she disappeared into the house. Scott stood a moment after she was gone, an odd little smile on his lips. "I wonder if she'd care--or would it be another case of Joyce Henderson?" he said. "Well, serve me right for a fool if it was!" He kicked a stick out of his way as he made for the wagon. "What have you got to offer a girl, anyhow?" He took a pocket torch out and examined the wheel of the wagon. "I've seen better looking wheels and then again I've seen worse," he decided, pessimistically. "If our luck holds we'll make it. Doggone it, being civilized makes an awful idiot of a man. I'm going to dream of those poor Yaquis we've just buried, sure as shoe leather." Four o'clock does indeed come along early when you have not closed your eyes before midnight. It also comes along chilly and dark and generally uncomfortable. The women were awakened by Hard, who had to knock loudly on their door in order to accomplish it. They tumbled to their feet and performed the necessary dressing operations in the dark, except for a candle which Clara lighted cautiously. "And to think that people once lived by candlelight!" murmured Polly, sleepily. "Were born, married, and finally died by it. Well, the race has come up a peg, I'll say that for it." Mrs. Conrad was ready first. She was very rapid, in a quiet, unhurried fashion. In her corduroy skirt and jacket, she looked very girlish. Polly mentally took five years off her estimate of her new acquaintance's age.