In fact, the two big fellows were so glad to see their cousin and Tavia again that they teased worse than ever. A queer way to show their affection, but a boy’s way, after all. And, of course, everybody else at the Cedars was delighted to greet Dorothy and Tavia. It was some time before the returned travelers could run upstairs to change their dresses for dinner. Jennie had gone into her room to change, too, and Tavia came to Dorothy’s open door. “Oh, that letter!” she exclaimed, seeing Dorothy standing very gravely with a letter in her hand. “Haven’t you sent it?” “You see I haven’t,” Dorothy said seriously. “But why not?” “It seems such a bold thing to do,” confessed her friend. “We know so little about him. And it might encourage him to write in return——” “Of course it will!” laughed Tavia. “There! that’s what I mean. It is bold.” “But, you silly!” cried Tavia. “You only write Mr. Knapp to do him a good turn. And he did us a good turn—at least, he did _me_ one that I shall never forget.” “True,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “And I have only repeated to him in this note what I heard that man, Stiffbold, say about the purchase of Mr. Knapp’s ranch.” “Oh, help the poor fellow out. Those men will rob him,” Tavia advised. “Why didn’t you send it at once, when you had written it?” “I—I thought I’d wait and consult Aunt Winnie,” stammered Dorothy. “Then consult her.” “But—but _now_ I don’t want to.” Tavia looked at her with certainty in her own gaze. “I know what is the matter with you,” she said. Dorothy flushed quickly and Tavia shook her head, saying nothing more. But when the girls went downstairs to dinner, Tavia saw Dorothy drop the stamped letter addressed to “Mr. Garford Knapp, Desert City,” into the mail bag in the hall. CHAPTER XII UNCERTAINTIES Dorothy had no time before dinner, but after that meal she seized upon her brothers, Joe and Roger, and led them aside. The boys thought she had something nice for them, brought from New York. They very quickly found out their mistake. “I want to know what you boys mean by taking such risks as you did this afternoon?” she demanded, when out of hearing of the rest of the family. She would not have her aunt or the major troubled by knowing of the escapade. “You, especially, Joe,” she went on, with an accusing finger raised. “You both might have been killed. _Then_ how would you have felt?” “Er—dead, I guess, Sister,” admitted Roger, for Joe was silent. “Didn’t you know the road was closed because of repairs on the bridge?” she asked the older boy sternly. “No-o. We forgot. We didn’t go over to the nutting woods that way. Say! who told you?” blurted out Joe. “Who told me what?” “About our race with the train. Cricky, but it was great!” “It was fine!” Roger added his testimony with equal enthusiasm. “I saw you,” said Dorothy, her face paling as she remembered her fright in the train. “I—I thought I should faint I was so frightened.”