But Diana was only concerned to know whether the Sheriff was safely out of the way. "You say the Sheriff’s gone?" "Thank Heaven!" Bill answered. "And, by-the-bye, just to be more cantankerous, he threatened to hold up you and your party as witnesses; but that wouldn’t be legal, would it?" As he remembered the boys he added, chuckling, "It certainly wouldn’t be popular." Before Diana could reply, Jim interrupted them. Like a restless spirit he had been wandering over the place, from barn to cabin, from Hal’s sleeping-room to the boys’ quarters; accomplishing little and vainly trying to accept the events that had crowded into his life during the last hours. The Sheriff, he felt sure, could easily be managed, but Nat-u-ritch’s disappearance was causing him anxiety. He knew it was a trait in the Indian character to hide away and stoically endure its grief in silence. Every moment he expected her to return. Stronger than all these thoughts was the desire that Diana should go at once, and little Hal with her. This speedy termination would make it easier for them all, he told himself, and then there were matters enough to claim his attention. So he reasoned as he came from the back of the house, where he had been brooding over a valise containing the child’s belongings. As he saw Diana sitting there deep in conversation with Bill, he stood amazed at the simple adaptability that made it possible for her to adjust herself to these primitive belongings and people. Bill was already regarding her as a friend. Then he remembered that he must see Tabywana to tell him of Nat-u-ritch’s disappearance, and arrange a plan with him to help her to evade Bud for several days. "Bill, I wish you would get Baco. I have sent for Tabywana, and want Baco to interpret for me." Bill’s heavy boots creaked down the corral. "I hope you’ve rested well, Diana," Jim said. "I haven’t been to bed, Jim. I’ve been trying to think it all out." She rose and came to him. "Would she be quite impossible at Maudsley Towers?" Jim knew she wanted to take up their conversation where it had stopped last night. They had discussed the subject already, and he felt the futility of going over the same arguments. It only tormented him, so he answered, "Quite." Diana persisted. "Couldn’t she be sent to school for a few years?" "It’s too late. That might have been done when she was a child, but now she’s a woman." "And a mother." Then hurriedly, as though fearful that she would not have the courage to express to Jim all her concern for Nat-u-ritch, she said, "Jim, I wonder if we are treating her quite fairly?" "I hope so." And in Jim’s voice there was a prayer.