Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at her. "Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried. "You're a man of mystery--a knight on a secret quest! Oh, if I could only help you! Will you let me try?" "I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said. "Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!" Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought the county recorder's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close together. To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy Fleet. "Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy. "They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty mysterious, Miss Selden." "Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd better eat and be starting back." CHAPTER VII LILAC SPODUMENE Once more Oliver Drew rode out of Clinker Creek Cañon to find Jessamy Selden, straight and strong and dependable looking, waiting for him in her saddle. On this occasion he joined her by appointment. She looked especially fresh and contrasty today. Her black hair and eyes and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling. This morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side. Oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admiration. "How do you do it?" he laughed. "Do what?" "Make yourself so spectacular and--er--outstanding, without leaving any traces of art?" "Am I spectacular?" "Rather. Different, anyway--to use a badly overworked expression. But what puzzles me is what makes you look like that. You seem perfectly normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. You're not beautiful, and you're too big both physically and mentally to be pretty. But I'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this section!" She regarded him soberly. "Are you through?" she asked. "I've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her. "Then we'd better be riding," she said. He swung Poche to the side of White Ann, and they moved off along the road, knee and knee. "You're not offended?" he asked. She threw back her head and laughed till Oliver thought of meadow larks, and robins calling before a shower.