Two weeks passed, but Wilfred did not consider the time lost; there were letters almost daily, by coach, from Lahoma, telling of her adventures in the great world--the house-party had been delayed on account of Mrs. Sellimer's illness, but was to take place immediately--so said the last letter before the arrival of the news that changed the course of events at the cove. As yet, Lahoma had not met Mr. Gledware, but the fame of his riches and his luxurious home had both increased her curiosity to see him, and her conviction that Mr. Edgerton Compton stood no chance with Annabel. She had discovered, too, that Edgerton Compton was a brother of the Wilfred Compton who had visited them one day in the cove--Wilfred read the letter with great attention, but there was no further reference to himself. Brick Willock rode over to Mangum nearly every afternoon to hear from Lahoma, but it happened that on the day of the great news, neither he nor Bill had returned from a certain hunting expedition in time for the stage, so Wilfred went for the mail. There was only one letter, addressed to "Mr. B. Willock," and it seemed strangely thin. The young man wondered during all his ten-mile return-trip if Lahoma had fallen ill; and after reaching the log cabin, he kept looking at the slim missive, and turning it over, with vague uneasiness. Brick and Bill had ridden far, and it was dusk before they reached home with a deer slung over one of the horses. "They're getting scarcer every year," complained Bill, as he climbed stiffly to the ground; "I guess they'll finally go the way of the buffalo." "Get a letter?" asked Brick, hurrying forward. "Huh! THAT it? She is sure getting fashionable! I reckon when she's plumb civilized, she won't write nothing!" He took the long white envelope and squinted at it inquisitively. "Well, why don't you open 'er?" snapped Bill. "Afraid you'll spring a trap and get caught?" "Ain't much here," replied Brick slowly, "and I'm making it last." "Huh! Nothing is a-lasting when it hasn't been begun," retorted Bill crossly. "See what the little girl says." "I'm afraid she's sick," observed Wilfred, eying the envelope with something like Bill's irritable impatience. Brick tore it open, and found within another envelope, the inner one of yellow. "It's a telegraph," he said uneasily. "Lahoma had telegraphed to the end of the wire, and at Chickasha they puts it in the white wrapper and sends it on. Do you see?" "I don't see anything yet," snapped Bill. "Rip 'er open!"