"I sent him home," replied Larry. "The poor little chap was about all in. We met his uncle, Long Bill, riding like blazes for the doctor. It seems that those young divils of twins shot old Harris some time during the night, which stopped that faction from joining these fellows here as they had planned. A pretty lucky shot, I'm thinking! They ought to have a gold medal for it, bless their souls, but they'll both dangle from the end of a rope before they're forty, the devils, or I'll miss my guess!" Larry looked around to speak to an officer, and before he could realize it Hope had disappeared, climbing back toward the summit of the hill where she had left her horse. In the gulch on the opposite side she fell exhausted into the very arms of old Jim McCullen, who had returned in time to hear the shooting, and was hastening toward the scene. "My poor little Hopie!" he cried, carrying her to the stream, where the alarmed party from the camp found them a few minutes later. "You will drown her, Mr. McCullen!" exclaimed Clarice Van Rensselaer, rushing up quite white and breathless. "The poor darling, I just _knew_ she'd get into trouble with all those dreadful Indians! Someone give me some whisky, _quick_! That's right, Sydney, _make_ her swallow it! Here, give it to me! _There!_" Louisa, stricken with grief, pointed to the damp, stiffened sleeve of the girl's shirt-waist. "See," she sobbed, "they have shot her, too, like my Fritz!" Of them all, Mrs. Van Rensselaer was the most contained, and showed remarkable coolness and nerve in the way she ripped off the sleeve and bathed the wound, which was hardly more than a deep scratch, yet had caused considerable loss of blood. "It's exhaustion, pure and simple," said Jim McCullen. Then he and Sydney drew away a short distance, and examined the horse. Hope finally looked up into the anxious faces above her. "I think, Clarice," she said, "I'll go back to New York with you." CHAPTER XXX Hope, a vision in white, leaned back resignedly in the soft embrace of the carriage cushions. "I thought," she said, "you never visited the Grandons, Clarice, particularly since Harriet made her alliance with the titleless duke." Mrs. Van Rensselaer smiled behind the laces of her muff. "I didn't suppose you were going there this afternoon," continued the girl, with a sweeping look along the solidly built street. "How does it happen?" "Well, you see," replied Clarice, "_Larry_ wished it; and you know his wish is law to me--_until_ we're married. That's only right and as it should be--the _dear boy_!" Then impulsively: "I don't know how I've ever lived without him, Hope! Positively, he is the _dearest_ thing that ever lived!" "And you'll both be tremendously happy, I know. Both of you young and gay, and in love with life and its frivolities--both the center of your set, and both rattle-brained enough to want to keep that center and throw away your lives in the whirling, rapid stream of society."