She laughed to herself in anticipation of his surprise. Then her face sobered, remembering that--for the first time--she would make the trip alone. She knew every inch of the way. She wasn’t afraid; there was nothing to harm her. And by taking her coffee and toast by lamplight, she would be with him by nine o’clock. As she fell asleep that night she was wishing some good fortune might come to Hume Sherwood, making his Christmas eve less lonely. When day broke, though as yet no rain was falling, a storm was already gathering itself for the onslaught. Fine dust filled the air, and the wind was racing up the valley with the swiftness of a prairie fire, where, on the alkali flats, great breakers of white dust rose from the sea of dry storm that ran ahead of the rain. Dead branches of greasewood, tumble-weeds light as sea-spume on the waves of the wind, rabbit-brush wrenched from the roots--these (the drift-wood of desert seas), were swept on and away! In the gray early dawn Miss Blaine’s horse had been saddled under protest. “We’re a-goin’ to hev a Nevady zephyr, I’m a-thinkin’, an’ th’ house is a mighty good place f’r wimmin-folks ’bout now!” were the words she heard through the whistling wind as she mounted. There was something electric in the strange storm that drew her into its midst--some kinship that called her away! She was sure she could reach shelter before the rain reached her. “Then, hurrah for the ring of the bridle-rein--away, brave steed, away!” Mountain Boy snuffed at the dust-laden air and broke into the long stride that soon carried them into the foothills. At times the wind nearly swept her from the saddle, but she loped on and on. Then she gained the high ground; and the dust that had smarted her eyes and nostrils lay far below. It was misty, and the wind came in strong buffetings. Up, and still up they climbed. The rain-clouds were surely keeping their burden back for her! But, nay! she had almost reached the mill--was almost under shelter, when the storm swept down upon her and the waters fell in a flood. Drenched and disheveled she reached the mill. Disappointment and consternation awaited her--her father was not there! Nearly two hours before--just the time she was leaving the valley--the Judge, with Mr. Akerman, had driven away by the north road to take the morning express from the station above, and were now at the county seat thirty miles away, if they had met with no mishap.