quick exclamation of
surprise. A great crack appeared along one side of the stone wall, and a
big boulder crashed down at Frieda's feet. Before her, she beheld
another cavern in the rock, almost as large as the one in which she
played.

The little girl jumped back. At any moment she expected to see a pair of
wild eyes glaring at her from the rocky retreat, believing that she had
accidentally broken into the cave of some animal. But nothing happened;
there was no stir, no sound from the darkness inside.

Frieda's heart beat rapidly. Her face was pale from excitement. She
looked cautiously into the opening, thrust one small hand into it and
drew out a round dish of hard, baked clay, engraved with queer, Indian
characters. Frieda gave a shriek of delight, although she did not
realize that she had accidentally discovered an important collection of
Indian relics. But she was fascinated with the arrow heads and queer
Indian dolls that she dug out a second later.

In the midst of her search, Frieda heard a sound that made her heart
stand still. At the head of the gorge, about a quarter of a mile away,
there was a dense thicket of evergreens. From this direction came a cry
of pain and terror. Frieda flew up to the ground above.

"Jean, Jack!" she called. "What has happened? Is one of you hurt? Please
come to me." Frieda gave the call, that was always the signal between
the three ranch girls. "Oh-oo, Oh-ooo, Oh-oooo," ending in a shrill,
drawn-out note, as she touched her lips with her fingers, three times in
quick succession.

Then she listened, but neither Jean nor Jack answered her. The ranch
girls could hear sounds from afar off, as they had spent their lives in
the open country. As Frieda ran forward a few steps, she caught the echo
of light feet, flying along the ground. A girl came out of the woods,
rushing toward her blindly. But Frieda could not tell who it was or
guess what had happened. Was it Jean or Jack?

CHAPTER III.

FRIEDA AND THE OTHER GIRL.

THE apparition drew near enough for Frieda to see that it was a stranger
with straight black hair. She was barefoot and wore a short, ragged
skirt, a bright red jacket, and a red scarf twisted around her throat.
In her startled glance at the girl, Frieda beheld a pair of immense
black eyes, set in a thin, pointed face, with cheeks flushed crimson,
perhaps from the swiftness of her flight. Her breath came in short
gasps. Frieda thought of a fawn she had on