and she bounded towards it. “Did you call me?” Carson Dwight asked, in a voice so low from hoarseness that it hardly reached her ears. “Yes, wait!” she panted. “Oh, you've gotten back!” They now stood face to face. “Oh yes,” he laughed, with a gesture towards his throat of apology for his hoarseness; “did you think I was off for good?” “No, but I was afraid”--she was shocked by the pallor of his usually ruddy face, the many evidences of fatigue upon him, the nervous way he stood holding his hat and cigar--“I was afraid you had met with disaster.” “But why did you feel that way?” he asked, reassuringly. “Oh, from what Keith said in general, and Mr. Garner, too. They declared the road you took was full of desperadoes, and--” “I might have known they would exaggerate the whole business,” Carson said, with a smile. “Why, I've just come from Mam' Linda's. I went to tell her that Pete is all right and as sound as a dollar. He's in the charge of good, reliable friends of mine up there, and wholly out of danger. In fact, he's as happy as a lark. When I left him he was surrounded by a gang of as trifling scamps as himself bragging about his numerous escapes and--he's generous--my importance in the community we live in. Well, he's certainly been _important_ enough lately.” “But did you not meet with--with any opposition at all?” Helen went on, insistently. “Oh, well”--he hesitated, struck a match, and applied it to his already lighted cigar--“we lost our way, for one thing. You see, I was a little afraid to carry a light, and it was hard to make out the different sign-boards, and, all in all, it was a slow trip, but we got through all right. And hungry! Gee whiz! We struck a restaurant in the outskirts of Chattanooga about sunup, and while that fellow was cooking us some steak and making coffee we could have eaten him alive. If Mam' Linda could have seen her boy eat she would have no fears as to his bodily condition.” “But didn't you meet some men who stopped you?” Helen asked, staring steadily into his eyes. He blinked, flicked the ashes from his cigar, and said: “Yes, we did, and they were really on the war-path, but they seemed very reasonable, and when I had talked to them and explained the matter from our stand-point--why, they--they let us go.” They had gone into the grounds and were near the main walk when the gate was opened and a man came striding towards them. It was Jeff Braider. “Oh, I've been looking for you everywhere, Carson,” he cried, warmly, shaking Dwight's hand. “I heard you'd got back, but I wanted to see you with my own eyes. Lord, Lord, my boy, if I'd known the awful trouble I was getting you into I'd never have let you take that road. I've just heard the whole story. For genuine pluck and endurance you certainly take the rag off the bush. Why, nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand would have given up the game, but you, you young bull-dog--”