here could be no errand, so far as she knew. There
were no missing papers such as plays and novels are accustomed to have
cunningly hidden in empty houses. There was no stolen will, no hidden
treasure, no money, no Rajah's ruby, no ransom of a king; these things
Jean named over mentally, and chuckled at the idea of treasure-hunting
at the Lazy A. It vas very romantic, very mysterious, she told
herself. And she analyzed the sensation of little wet alligators
creeping up her spine (that was her own simile), and decided that her
book should certainly have a ghost in it; she was sure that she could
describe with extreme vividness the effect of a ghost upon her various
characters.

In this wise she recovered her composure and laughed at her fear, and
planned new and thrilly incidents for her novel.

She would not tell Lite anything about it, she decided. He would try to
keep her from coming over here by herself, and that would precipitate
one of those arguments between them that never seemed to get them
anywhere, because Lite never would yield gracefully, and Jean never
would yield at all,--which does not make for peace.

She wished, just the same, that Lite was there. It would be much more
comfortable if he were near instead of away over to the Bar Nothing,
sound asleep in the bunk-house. As a self-appointed guardian, Jean
considered Lite something of a nuisance, when he wasn't funny. But as
a big, steady-nerved friend and comrade, he certainly was a comfort.

CHAPTER XI

LITE'S PUPIL DEMONSTRATES

Jean awoke to hear the businesslike buzzing of an automobile coming up
from the gate. Evidently they were going to make pictures there at the
house, which did not suit her plans at all. She intended to spend the
early morning writing the first few chapters of that book which to her
inexperience seemed a simple task, and to leave before these people
arrived. As it was, she was fairly caught. There was no chance of
escaping unnoticed, unless she slipped out and up the bluff afoot, and
that would not have helped her in the least, since Pard was in the
stable.

From behind the curtains she watched them for a few minutes. Robert
Grant Burns wore a light overcoat, which made him look pudgier than
ever, and he scowled a good deal over some untidy-looking papers in his
hands, and conferred with Pete Lowry in a dissatisfied tone, though his
words were indistinguishable. Muriel Gay watched the two covertly, it
seem