y Sharpe arrived with a note from
Mrs. Breckenridge. It was an invitation to supper that evening.

"Isn't that kind! I'll be so glad to go. She's a beautiful and
gracious woman."

"It's a sort of party, I judge," said Mrs. Patten, beaming with
pleasure and opening a note that Tommy had passed her. "We're all
invited to dinner."

That was Virginia Breckenridge's way of keeping in touch with her
neighbors. On learning of Professor Gillette's business in the
mountains, she had sent to New York for books on Indian legends, Indian
ruins and anything that might give the professor a clue to what he
wanted to find. And much to her surprise, a book on Indian legends was
written by Anton Gillette.

"Our professor is a modest man," laughed Enid. "Imagine him not
telling us that he had written a book. He's got his typewriter with
him, I wonder if he is planning another book."

"Let's go and ask him," announced Bet, jumping up and starting toward
the door.

"It's ten o'clock! He'll be sound asleep," said Shirley. "Don't you
think you can wait until morning?"

Bet had waited and then asked the old man, but she got little
satisfaction. The professor was shy about his work.

But that was exactly what he was planning to do. If he could make some
discoveries, get some practical knowledge and then write about it, he
would save his job and increase his income so that his daughter might
get the treatment to restore her health.

A sum of money had been offered to the old man for research work, and
he had accepted it gladly. He knew from the history of Arizona that a
large Indian village must have been situated in the region of Lost
Canyon, and it was here that he hoped to find the burial place of the
wealthy chief.

The younger teachers heard of his plan and smiled with condescension.
They did not imagine for a minute that the old man could stand the
strenuous trip to the southwest and find the Indian village. It was a
stunt that they would have hesitated to undertake.

But Anton Gillette was made of different stuff. Here was his chance,
he must win out. As he looked into the pale face of his daughter,
Alicia, her eyes glowing with hope both for her father and her own
future, he had vowed that no hardships would be too great for him to
overcome.

And here he was in the mountains, camping in Lost Canyon within, he
believed, arm's length of the ruins. But so far he had not found them.

Luck was with him, that