She demurred at first, but Nash insisted; so it ended by the girl being helped into the saddle. “I’m so interested in this--this aqueduct,” she said, after he had finished looking over the saddle straps. “Then you must come over to the camp--any day--and I’ll show you around,” he said. “I am always glad to interest myself in others who are interested in what I’m doing.” “Are you--the--boss?” she asked. “I’m the foreman,” he answered. “Naturally I take a great deal of pride in the work of construction.” For the instant, as he looked at her, he fancied he detected a new light--a cold, different light--come into her eyes; and he could have sworn her hands were trembling as they rested on the pony’s neck. “Then--then you are Mr. Nash?” she said presently. He nodded. “That’s an excellent guess.” Her fingers found and gripped the reins, and, as if composing herself, she straightened in the saddle. “I--I will return your pony promptly, Mr. Nash,” she said, in a voice that seemed to issue from strange lips. “And thank you very much for what you have done.” With a puzzled frown, Nash watched her as she galloped up the trail and disappeared from view behind a shoulder of rock, riding her mount with the ease of an experienced horsewoman. “She’s no beginner when it comes to the saddle,” Nash muttered. “Elkhorn Ranch, eh?” he said, a moment later. “Odd I never heard of it before.” Then he turned on his heel and wended his way down the rough slope, deserting the trail for the cut-off in the direction of the camp. CHAPTER XIV. THE NIGHT ALARM. Before he was halfway to his cabin he came upon the runaway horse, peacefully cropping the grass in a little hollow between the high hills. It was but the work of a moment to catch it, and, after satisfying himself that the animal was free from injuries, Nash adjusted the saddle and sprang into it. Arrived at the camp, he turned the horse into the stable where the others were kept, but concluded then to take the saddle up to the cabin, where it would be safer. Finishing with supper and lighting the lamp in the big room of the cabin, which he used as an office, Nash noticed a piece of paper in the middle of the floor. He picked it up and unfolded it. Then he frowned and looked around the room, as if expecting to find the owner watching him. Traced upon the paper was a small but excellent map of the entire Los Angeles Aqueduct route, showing the intake at Owens Lake. The different elevations, the telephone stations were marked in red ink, while the numerous tunnels, beginning with the long one at Elizabeth and ending with the Reever Bore above San Fernando, were denoted by heavy crosses. Nash studied the map for a long time. “Now, where in the world did this come from?” he muttered. “It’s an exceedingly clever drawing.” Suddenly he lifted his head and whistled. “By Jove, that’s it! It fell from the saddle pocket.”