Dan forced himself to smile. He did not want either of his companions to know that he was troubled. "Yes, we'll go up there tomorrow. I would like to meet the trapper who is, I believe, the father of that little horsewoman." But even as he spoke Dan recalled that the slinking Indian had insisted that he was her father, and that the girl did not believe it. When he reached the cabin, Jane was still shut in her room. The children declared that they were hungry as wolves and that they would get the evening meal, and so the older lad seated himself on the edge of the front porch to think over all that he had seen and heard, and decide what it would be best for him to do. Perhaps, after all, he had been unwise to bring either of the girls to a place so wild. Perhaps he ought to send them both home. He and Gerald could protect themselves if there were to be trouble of any kind. He decided that the very next day, as soon as the mountain girl had gone to the Redfords school, he would climb up the road to the cabin, which he believed was just about a mile above them. Then he could discover from the trapper if any real danger might lurk on the mountain for the two Eastern girls. CHAPTER XV. MEG HEGER To the surprise of the young people, almost as soon as the sun had set, night descended upon them. Dan had helped the children clean the lamps and lanterns. Their grandmother, at their father's prompting, had remembered to put kerosene on their list and also candles. Jane chose one of the latter to light her to bed. She simply detested kerosene lamps, she declared when Dan had asked if she didn't want to sit up with them a little while and read some of the books their father and mother had left in the cabin. "No, thank you!" had been the emphatic refusal. "The nights here are bitterly cold. In bed at least I can keep warm." "Gee-whiliker," Gerald said when the girl to whom everything seemed distasteful had retired. "Ain't she a wet blanket?" Before Dan could rebuke him for criticizing his elders, Julie burst in with, "Why, Gerry Abbott, didn't you promise Dad you wouldn't ever say ain't, and there you said it." The boy squirmed uncomfortably. "It's an awful long time since I said it before," he tried to excuse himself. "I bet you I won't do it again. You see if I do." Dan was looking at the empty hearth. "We should have cut some wood and had a roaring fire tonight. Let's do it tomorrow and make it more cheerful for Jane, if----" He paused as though he had said more than he had intended, but his alert companions would not let a sentence go unfinished. "If what, Dan?" Julie asked curiously.