He did not quite see what good he could do, that staid Church Elder, by joining the girl in the Devil's Seat. But he came of a Campbell clan which never flinched. He was preparing to slide down, himself, when an arm--a left elbow rather--thrust him rudely back. "T-take hold of this rope-end. Throw yourself flat on the ground there. Sit on him, you girls, so that he may not be drawn over!" cried a voice, pointed, vigorous. Pem knew that it was the fiery voice of the nickum, the broad-shouldered youth, who had sat in the chair before her, whose crowing had been responsible for her feat. Her colorless face was turned upward then and she had seen him push up the lower folds of his sweater with his left hand--even while its elbow sent the chauffeur back--and while his right, lightning-like, uncoiled a rope, a lariat, worn under it around his waist. It was then that he shouted to her to "keep cool"; and that she, turning her head aside against the rock, became a living effigy of the Thunder Bird. Not waiting to make the rope fast around his own body--or his body fast to it--he slid down. The next moment he was standing beside her in the chair. "Ha! So the 'pep' was in the wrong box that time," he said coolly. "Yes. Last time it was in the ice-box," snapped she, as coolly, not to be outdone. "So you _did_ remember--know me--us!" "How could I help--remembering--that icy train-wreck?" He was slipping the rope in a noose under her arms. "Perhaps, some day.... Well! I'm glad to be 'Jack at a Pinch' again, anyway." "R-ready!" he shouted then. And Pem was drawn up, to face a Highland squall from Andrew. "Hoot! lassie, an' air ye sech a fechless tomboy that a mon mun keep his een sticket on ye a' the time?" the Scot angrily demanded. "How cud ye be sech a nickum as to try sitting in yon--Deev's Chair?" "Ask--ask the other nickum; he did it first," flung back the rescued one. But under cover of the broad scolding, the other, the Jack at a Pinch--friend in need for the second time--had again slipped off, without a word from either of the girls. "Bah! he is a nickum--a mysterious imp," snapped Pemrose, the fire that smoldered behind her white face leaping up. "Can't be shyness with him; he doesn't look the least bit shy! Oh-h! what a fool I was to give him a chance to help me--save me--in a 'pinch', again." Tears were springing to her eyes now,--tears of reaction. She felt that an eighteen-year-old youth, privileged to save her life twice--it seemed a privilege at the moment--might, at least, have had the manners to let her thank him for it. "Oh! he's the nicest and the--hor-rid-est--boy I ever saw," wailed Una, in tribute to the train-wreck, still a nightmare on her mind. Both girls were dumfounded, as well they might be.