"But it's right over your temple, Lafayette!" replied Mrs. Blake.

"Lafe was lifting his some-berero to me, and Kid did it to haze
him--only a joke, you know," explained Isobel. "Of course Lafe was in
no danger. It was different, though, when somebody--we think it was
his thieving guide--took several rifle shots at him. Tell them about
it, Lafe."

Ashton gave an account of the murderous attack, more than once
checking himself in a natural tendency to embellish the exciting
details.

"Oh! What if the man should come back and shoot at us?" shuddered Mrs.
Blake, drawing her baby close in her arms.

"No fear of that," asserted Isobel. "Kid found that he had fled
towards the railroad. That proves it must have been the guide. He
would never dare come back after such a crime."

"If he should, I always carry my rifle, as you see," remarked Ashton;
adding, with a touch of bravado, "I made him run once, and I would
again."

"I'm glad Miss Chuckie is sure he will not come back," said Blake. "I
don't fancy anyone shooting at me that way."

"Timid Mr. Blake!" teased the girl. "Genevieve has been telling me how
you faced a lion with only a bow and arrow."

"Had to," said Blake. "He'd have jumped on me if I had turned or
backed off.--Speaking about camping at that waterhole, I believe we'll
do it, Ashton, if it's the same thing to you. It would save the time
that would be lost coming and going to the ranch."

"Save time?" repeated Isobel. "Then of course we'll bring out a tent
and camp kit for you tomorrow. Genevieve and I can ride or drive up to
the waterhole each day, to picnic with you."

"It will be delightful," agreed Mrs. Blake.

"You ride on ahead and wait for us in the shade," said her husband.
"We'll knock off for the day when we reach that dolerite dike above
the waterhole.--If you are ready, Ashton, we'll peg along."

He started off to set up his level as briskly as at dawn, though the
midday sun was so hot that he had to shade the instrument with his
handkerchief to keep the air-bubble from outstretching its scale. His
wife and the girl drove on up Dry Fork to the waterhole.

Mrs. Blake was outstretched on her back, fast asleep, and Isobel was
playing with the baby under the adjoining tree, when at last the
surveyors came up on the other side of the creek and ended their day's
run with the establishment of a bench-mark on the top of the dike
above the pool. Blake seemed as fresh as in the morning. He took a