Bess and Mrs. White were greeted and made welcome by the several other women in camp. Seeing that the little woman was almost ready to drop, Bess asked if she might remove her to their tent. Here she was made comfortable and was soon enjoying the tea and toast which one of the women brought to her. During the night the new, strange noises, as well as the brilliant moonlight made sleep impossible to Bess. She crept quietly out of bed and wrapping a huge blanket around her, stepped out before the tent. How wondrous was the night! In the distant moonlight she could see the wranglers who were guarding the restless herd of horses, riding slowly back and forth. She heard a boyish voice singing softly as he rode about the cavie. Just now she discovered quite near the tent, a man rolled in a blanket and asleep upon the ground, his head resting upon a saddle. With a startled movement she turned to re-enter her shelter, when a deep, low voice said, “Do not be afraid Bess. I am sleeping here that you—that the ladies may feel secure.” It was Henry West. The grey dawn came creeping up through the long draw and peered into Bess’ tent before she could close her eyes and lose herself in sleep. When the first pale ray of morning broke, she saw the man who had kept vigil during the night, arise hastily from his impromptu bed and hurry away. She then fell asleep, dreaming of flight before the mad rush of wild horses, and again seemed to feel an iron hold grasping her arm and lifting her high out of danger’s path. With a bewildered start she awoke to discover that Mrs. White was clasping her arm and shaking her vigorously. “Hurry and get up! What in the world were you dreaming of? I could scarcely arouse you! See, breakfast is over and the men have all gone after the horses. If you expect to see the branding you will have to hurry,” said Mrs. White, as her busy fingers assisted Bess in making her hasty toilet. At several different points she could see the smoke arising from the branding fires and the men riding unceasingly to cut out the victims of the red-hot irons. The women had started out to watch the performance, when a great cry of pain and the smell of burning flesh reached Bess. For an instant she stood frozen with horror, then without a word to her companions turned and fled back to her tent. Here she sat in a huddled heap with her fingers thrust into her ears. Here the other women discovered her, but no word of coaxing or joking derision succeeded in drawing her out again to watch the nauseous spectacle of branding. At noon-time, when all the others were hungry and enjoying the delicious roast, Bess felt sick at the very mention of food. All she wanted was her horse so that she might ride far away from all the confusion and heart-rending sounds.