“I know just how eagerly you are awaiting a message from me, but I have been unable to communicate with you before. When I reached the sheep ranch, Mr. Wilson asked me to ride with several Mexicans whom he trusted, up toward the Lost Canyon which is in the roughest and wildest part of the mountains to the north. It is seldom visited by herders as there is practically no vegetation there. However, Lopez Andero, one of the herders who has long been in Mr. Wilson’s employ, stated that after a spring of heavy rains there was, in an almost inaccessible valley in the heart of the mountains, enough grass to last a herd of 500 Merinos for several weeks and that there could not a better place for rustlers to hide the flock. It was twilight when we started, Lopez in the lead. After a long, wearisome ride we reached the entrance to the canyon an hour before daybreak. “We wished to approach the valley under cover of the darkness so that we might come upon the rustlers without their knowledge, if indeed, they were there, but when at last we reached the summit overlooking the valley, to our great disappointment, in the grey light of the dawning day we saw only a lonely, bowl-shaped hollow, in which, as Lopez had said, grass was luxuriantly growing. “We then rode back to the home ranch and found several other parties who had also returned with the same discouraging report. No trace of sheep or shepherds had been found. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson are greatly depressed, as indeed, are we all. The loss of the sheep, Mr. Wilson assures me, means little to him; he is so eager to find Tom. I am sorry, sister, that I have to write this news, knowing that it will sadden you and Margaret. I had hoped that today I would be able to return to V. M. accompanied by Tom and give you a real surprise, but now I do not expect to be able to do that, at least not soon. Send me a line to Red Riverton today if you can conveniently. “Your brother, Malcolm.” “Margaret,” Virginia said when she had finished reading the letter, “I am going to ride to the Papago village today. Will you and Babs accompany me?” CHAPTER XLII AN INDIAN VILLAGE When Virginia calmly announced that she was going to ride to the Papago village, Margaret exclaimed in surprise: “But, Virg, dear, it’s mid-day now and you have said that it is a long, hard ride. Would there be time for us to go and return all in one afternoon?” The western girl shook her head. “I thought we might remain there over night,” was her unexpected reply, “and come back tomorrow morning.” Bab’s eyes were big and round. “Virginia!” she ejaculated. “You don’t mean that you would actually stay all night in an Indian village? Why, I wouldn’t be able to sleep the least little bit, I am sure of that. All the time I would be listening, expecting to hear moccasined feet steathily creeping toward my bedeside, and—”