th sudden
shyness.

Carmena held out a firm hand to Lennon.

"Good night, Jack--and thank you for--Dad. It's two years since he has
been anything like to-day."

"The pleasure was mine," replied Lennon.

His tone was not uncordial, but his eyes had turned to watch Elsie dance
across to one of the inner doorways that led into a short passage.
Carmena swung around after her foster-sister, with her head well up and
her boot heels briskly clicking on the stone floor.

The discovery at his bedside of his own clothes thoroughly cleaned and
his boots well oiled added a touch of gratitude to his tender,
compassionate, delightful thoughts of Elsie. He lay awake for an hour or
more, dwelling upon her dainty beauty and fascinating innocence.

But the bleak gray light of dawn brought sober reflections. What
interest could he have in the young girl other than to help her escape
from the savage Cochise? She was a waif, of unknown parentage. Mentally
she was little more than a child, and all her conscious experience had
been confined to the environment of this crude desert valley.

Lennon came out to breakfast with scant appetite. But his moodiness had
company. Elsie sat at table tearful-eyed and drooping. Carmena's eyes
were somber and her expression was hard. In reply to Lennon's polite
inquiry for Farley she coldly replied that her father was not hungry.

Through one of the outer slit windows of the living room Lennon saw a
thin column of smoke down the valley toward the corral. Carmena answered
his unspoken question:

"They're brand-blotting the last bunch of cattle brought into the Hole."

"Brand-blotting?"

"Yes. You wouldn't care to see it--especially when Cochise takes part."

Elsie uttered a smothered little gasp that quickened again all of
Lennon's repressed tenderness and compassion. He looked around, trying
to think of some means to divert her. His glance fell upon one of the
bowls of ancient pottery.

"May I ask you to show me the rest of this cliff house? Or are the other
rooms in ruins?"

Elsie instantly brightened.

"Oh, no, course not. Only some of the top ones have tumbled in. Dad
won't mind if we show Jack the mummies, will he, Mena?"

"Fetch candles," directed Carmena, clearly as relieved as the others at
the thought of diversion.

They started to ramble through the interior of the cliff house, taking
with them a light ladder to climb to the upper stories. In the lower
rooms at the near end wer