"There is, though," exclaimed Marjorie, in sudden astonishment. "Look at that man. Where can he be going?" And she pointed with her whip-handle to a solitary figure, carrying a suit-case, which was slowly advancing in their direction. "He isn't an Indian or a Mexican, either," she added eagerly; "he's a white man, and he must be on his way to the ranch. Nobody who isn't coming to the ranch ever takes this road." "Perhaps he's a tramp," suggested Undine nervously. "We'd better hurry home." But Marjorie scorned the suggestion. "Nonsense," she said indignantly. "The idea of wanting to run away! Besides, we can't; he's making signs to us to wait for him. He wants to speak to us." Undine did not feel at all sure of the wisdom of this proceeding, but there seemed nothing else to do, and in a few moments the stranger, who had quickened his pace at sight of the two girls, was within speaking distance. He was plentifully besprinkled with dust, and was looking decidedly warm and tired, but his appearance and manner were those of a gentleman. "Excuse me for detaining you," he said, apologetically, "but can you tell me how far I am from Mr. Donald Graham's ranch?" "I thought you must be coming to the ranch," said Marjorie, with a friendly smile; "it's about five miles from here." "Five miles," repeated the stranger in a tone of dismay, and he set down the heavy suit-case he was carrying, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Have you been walking far?" Marjorie inquired sympathetically. "Yes, I think I must have walked at least five miles already. My team broke down, one of the wheels came off, and the man who was driving me out to the ranch seemed to think the only thing to be done was to leave the wagon with my trunk on it by the roadside while he returned to town on horseback, to get another trap. He advised me to walk on, but I had no idea of the distance. Will you please tell me if this is the shortest way to the ranch?" "It's the only way," said Marjorie, smiling, and thinking that this tall, broad-shouldered man must certainly be "a tenderfoot." Her own father thought nothing of a ten-mile tramp over the prairie. "Then I suppose there is no help for it, but five miles--are you sure it's as much as five miles?" Marjorie nodded; she was trying to think of some way of helping the stranger out of his difficulty. But it was finally he himself who put into words the very suggestion she was going to make. "I wonder if by any chance you young ladies happen to be going as far as the ranch," he said, with a rather curious glance at the two figures, sitting astride their ponies. "We're going straight there now," said Marjorie, eagerly, "and if you don't mind waiting, I'll ask Father to send a horse for you." "You are very kind, but do you think he could possibly send a wagon as well? I am not much of a horseman." This certainly was a "tenderfoot," and no mistake, but Marjorie was too polite to laugh.