Harry did not come into view of the Robinson ranch until nine o'clock. It had been a long, hard drive from Hailey, and three miles yet lay between her and the homestead. Fortunately, it was not quite dark. Behind the mountains the after-glow still burned, dull orange and rose, and the tops of the buttes reflected a pale saffron gleam. But dark shadows filled the cañons, and objects near by had an odd trick of disappearing in the darkness just as Harry looked at them. The ranch house lay dark and silent. Thinking that the family had gone to bed, Harry was going on without stopping. She was really too tired to stop and talk. As she came nearer, however, she saw a light in the kitchen; then the door opened and some one came down the path toward the gate. "Hello there!" Robinson called. "That you, Holliday? Don't get down; I'll open the gate." "It's I, Harry!" the girl answered. "I won't come in, thank you. But please tell Jimmy that he needn't ride over in the morning; I'll take care of the animals now." "Say, you ain't alone, are you? Where's Rob at? Anything happened to him?" Robinson had swung back the gate and was peering at the girl perched on the wagon seat. "Vashti told us something was wrong." "Yes. There's been some trouble over a horse Rob was boarding for a man, and he had to stay in Hailey." She broke off. How could she go into the story here, at this time of night? "A hoss, eh? Well, them things do take quite some time to straighten up. But you can stop here with us until he gets home." "Oh, thank you! Really, though, I guess I'd better go on. It's so late, and----" "Sure thing. Too late for you to be chasin' back there alone to-night, ain't it, ma?" "That's what." Mrs. Robinson, with her arms wrapped in her apron, had joined them, and stood listening while Harry told again what had happened to Rob. As the girl gazed down through the clear darkness the scent of the wild bean floated down to her from the hillsides. The hurrying patter of water in the irrigation ditches soothed her tired brain with the magic of a spell; her head nodded and her words became indistinct. "Say, Johnny, she's droppin' in her tracks, she's so tired!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "Take them lines and hand her down 'fore she takes a header into the ditch." Mrs. Robinson spoke in a tone of command, and "Johnny" obeyed. Yielding the lines with honest relief that she need go no farther that night, Harry climbed down and walked stiffly to the kitchen with her hostess. The big, half-furnished room was neat and orderly from Saturday's scrubbing. Vashti, in her Sunday starched lawn frock and new scarlet hair ribbons, smiled bashfully. Mrs. Robinson, too, with "rats" in her hair and wearing a new purple gingham dress, seemed ten years younger. As she pulled forward a chair, Harry noticed that her right hand was swathed in a bandage.