He began to laugh at the recollection: "No, sir, they didn't act tired and sad; they said they were crazy to get into their knickerbockers and go to look for you----" "Where did you say I was?" asked Darragh, drying himself vigorously. "Out in the woods, somewhere. The last I saw of them, Mrs. Ray had their hand-bags and Jerry and Tom were shouldering their trunks." "I'm going up there right away," interrupted Darragh excitedly. "--Good heavens, Ralph, I haven't any clothes here, have I?" "No, sir. But those you wore last night are dry----" "Confound it! I meant to send some decent clothes here---- All right; get me those duds I wore yesterday--and a bite to eat! I'm in a hurry, Ralph----" He ate while dressing, disgustedly arraying himself in the grey shirt, breeches, and laced boots which weather, water, rock, and brier had not improved. In a pathetic attempt to spruce up, he knotted the red bandanna around his neck and pinched Salzar's slouch hat into a peak. "I look like a hootch-running Wop," he said. "Maybe I can get into the house before I meet the ladies----" "You look like one of Clinch's bums," remarked Wier with native honesty. Darragh, chagrined, went to his bunk, pulled the morocco case from under the pillow, and shoved it into the bosom of his flannel shirt. "That's the main thing anyway," he thought. Then, turning to Wier, he asked whether Eve and Stormont had awakened. It appeared that Trooper Stormont had saddled up and cantered away shortly after sunrise, leaving word that he must hunt up his comrade, Trooper Lannis, at Ghost Lake. "They're coming back this evening," added Wier. "He asked you to look out for Clinch's step-daughter." "She's all right here. Can't you keep an eye on her, Ralph?" "I'm stripping trout, sir. I'll be around here to cook dinner for her when she wakes up." Darragh glanced across the brook at the hatchery. It was only a few yards away. He nodded and started for the veranda: "That'll be all right," he said. "Nobody is coming here to bother her.... And don't let her leave, Ralph, till I get back----" "Very well, sir. But suppose she takes it into her head to leave----" Darragh called back, gaily: "She can't: she hasn't any clothes!" And away he strode in the gorgeous sunshine of a magnificent autumn day, all the clean and vigorous youth of him afire in anticipation of a reunion which the letter from his lady-love had transfigured into a tryst. For, in that amazing courtship of a single day, he never dreamed that he had won the heart of that sad, white-faced, hungry child in rags--silken tatters still stained with the blood of massacre,--the very soles of her shoes still charred by the embers of her own home. Yet, that is what must have happened in a single day and evening. Life passes swiftly during such periods. Minutes lengthen into days; hours into years. The soul finds itself.