Jean and Jack had even fewer costumes than usual, for they had divided their belongings with the Indian girl, and the valise was the very same one that Mr. Ralston had brought across the prairies with him fourteen years before. It had never dawned on the girls that it was shabby and old-fashioned looking, as they had never traveled more than a few miles from the ranch and knew nothing of stylish suit cases and leather hand-bags. Jack screwed her head around at Frieda's words: "I wonder if you would mind our calling you Olive, instead of Olilie," she suggested. "It is ever so much easier to say, and I have always thought Olive a perfectly beautiful name. Besides you seem like a wild olive, you are so pretty and Spanish-looking." Jack spoke carelessly, not dreaming that the young, captive girl had conceived the deepest devotion to her. Olilie was grateful to Jean and Frieda for their kindness to her, but as long as she lived she would remember that it was Jacqueline who had put her arms about her and brought her to the ranch house on the day she had decided that she could bear life with old Laska no longer. Olilie was too shy to show what she felt, but Jack was to find it out some day in a wonderful way. "I shall be very glad to have you call me, Olive," she answered, in the musical tones that surprised everybody acquainted with the guttural sounds the Indians make in trying to speak English. Jim turned to stare back of him. He was very much displeased with this latest escapade of the ranch girls, and had no idea of giving his consent to their keeping this girl. Already he had ridden over to tell Laska and Josef that they could have her back in a few days. Frieda and Jean were treating this Indian wench like a sister, and a stop had to be put to their nonsense. Jim swallowed hard as he caught sight of Olilie whom he had seen but a few times before to-day: "Kind of wish the girls had never run across this one," he muttered to himself. "They have got plenty to do to take care of themselves." Olilie looked to-day as you would imagine a gypsy maiden appeared long years ago in her own land of Romany. She had on a faded blue gown of Jean's and a cape of Jack's; her hair was parted in the middle, like Jack's and Frieda's and plaited in two braids, coming way down over her low broad forehead. Her eyes were long and narrow, of a clear burning black, her skin a dark olive and her color spread all over her cheeks instead of centering in single, bright patches. "Jack," Jim whispered, "don't you say too much at the Simpson's about keeping this Indian girl at Rainbow Ranch and don't you be telling anything at this house party about what is worrying us. What we want to do is to keep mum and fight our own battles; if we get the Indians against us, the cattle and horses will disappear faster than they are going now."