As the little fellow rode up, he reached under his red saddle blanket and drew forth a long white envelope. This he handed to Virginia with a slip of brown wrapping paper on which Winona had written: “Dear White Lily: “Mrs. Wells sent this. Your cow-boy dropped it at the station. Your friend, Winona.” “Oh thank you, Red Feather!” Virginia exclaimed, when she had read the message. “Tell Winona to come soon again and pay us a real visit.” The little Indian lad showed his white teeth in a wide smile but whether he understood or not the girls could not tell. When he was gone, Virginia dragged Margaret into the living-room and whirled her about merrily. Then they sank down on the window seat and Virginia tore open the long white envelope. CHAPTER XXXIV TWO LETTERS FROM TOM “A letter from an outlaw,” Margaret laughingly exclaimed as the two girls curled up on the window seat, one to read and the other to listen to their very first letter from Tom. “Virginia, isn’t this the strangest thing you ever heard of?” Margaret added. “What would my primly and properly brought up friends in Vine Haven Seminary think if they knew that we were corresponding with a young man labeled an outlaw whose last name we do not even know?” Virginia laughed. “I suppose your Miss Pickle would be frigid with horror, but luckily she knows nothing of your present misdemeanors and cannot make you go without dessert for a week for breaking a rule. Now for the letter: “Dear Virginia and Margaret: “Greetings from a sheep ranch. Virginia, when I was outlawed from your home, I felt that I was leaving the sunshine of the world behind me and I didn’t much care what happened, but you will be glad to know that my destination proved to be a real home where I was kindly welcomed by a motherly woman, her big hearted, splendid husband and their son, Harry, who is just my age. I offered at once to tell them who I really am, but they would not permit me to do so. Luckily for me, Mr. Wilson was in great need of help and within an hour after my arrival, his son Harry and I started to ride to the Red Canyon Camp where the sheep herder, Juan, was alone with several hundred ewes. “A very small Mexican boy with a very big name, it being Francisco Quintano Mendoza, is ranch rider. It is his duty to visit each of the four outlying camps, which he does on his brisk little burro, finding out the needs of each herder and then he returns to the main ranch house. It takes him a week to make the round trip. He had ridden in that morning with a message from Juan of Red Canon Camp. The flock was being nightly attacked by wild animals, and, try as he might, the herder had been unable to capture the invader.