o
could ride faster, shoot straighter, or understood more about the
business of caring for the cattle and the sheep than she did, and since
Mr. Ralston's death, Jim had always consulted Jack about each new
business venture.

Jack made her report of yesterday's expedition, but without a word of
her meeting with Dan. Jim said nothing about the fright Jack had given
them, but Jack found herself blushing and feeling like a little girl,
instead of the head of a thousand acre ranch as he looked at her.

"It really wasn't my fault I was out late, yesterday, Jim," Jack
apologized. "But we girls have decided to turn over a new leaf. We have
made up our minds to stay at home and study, until we are regular blue
stockings."

Jim laughed and at this moment glanced up the road. Jean and Frieda were
riding calmly toward them. Jean was leading Hotspur and the three
girls' saddle bags were packed as though they were pioneers traveling
across the Deadwood trail to the gold regions of California.

Jim chuckled. "Looks like a party of bluestockings from Boston, Jack,
coming this way, 'specially that there fishing tackle Jean's carrying.
Where was you expecting to spend to-day?" he drawled in a funny Western
fashion.

Frieda tucked a small bunch of violets in the buttonhole of Jim's khaki
shirt. She wore a blue riding suit and a big Mexican hat like Jack's and
her face looked very young and babyish under it. "We are going to the
Giant's Canyon, Jim," she said apologetically. "It's such a dream of a
day, but Jack doesn't know. We have brought her sketch book and Jean's
along and I have my history, so we can get our lessons outdoors and then
we can make a fire and have lunch in my own little cave in the rocks."

"We will be back early, Jim," Jean added.

"All right," Jim agreed. His eyes twinkled at the vision of Jean and
Jack sketching under the shadow of the great stone peaks whose broken
outline looked like the profile of a giant's face. The Giant's Canyon was
five miles across the plains, but the ranch girls were in the habit of
riding over to it. Between the ridges of rock, nestling in the deep
gorge, were little lakes filled with shimmering trout. One of the rocky
caverns in the canyon, Frieda had adopted as her very own. The girls
always spoke of it as Frieda's cave.

Frieda's stone castle was really two stories high. A large flat rock
jutted out over a second one about eight feet below it while a flight of
natural stairs ra