nd clasped against
her cheek.

Another hour slipped by. Cramped and cold, Roger tossed an occasional
branch in the fire with his free hand and speculated with uneasiness for
Ernest, as to the nature of the faint sounds that came from the
eastward. He decided that coyotes must be in the vicinity and he drew
the blanket close over Felicia's shoulders. He was strangely unlonely.
The desert silence and space about him, the low-lying stars, the faint
cloud of mountain range were not alien to him. They all were the setting
for the work toward which his whole life had moved. He knew too little
of the desert really to be fearful for Ernest, whose return he expected
any moment.

He dozed a little. A sudden sound of hoof-beats roused him. A man jumped
from his horse on the opposite side of the fire. He was a stocky fellow,
wearing blue overalls and a red sweater. Before he had given Roger more
than a quick "Hello!" another horse came up and a woman alighted. Roger
laid Felicia's head on the blanket and clambered stiffly to his feet.
The young woman gave Roger a quick glance, then ran toward the sleeping
child.

"Felicia! Baby Felicia!" she cried. "Did you think Charley had deserted
you?"

Felicia sat up with a jerk. "Charley!" she screamed. "Charley! I knew
you'd come!"

"Hello, Roger Moore!" exclaimed the stocky young man. "Are you the same
young plutocrat who used to own a swimming pool?"

Roger laughed. "The same, except that I'm no longer a plutocrat. How did
you recognize me?"

"Oh, we met Ernest Wolf meandering about the desert. Hello, baby, do you
remember brother?" kissing Felicia, who was in Charley's arms.

Charley was tall, nearly as tall as Roger, and he noticed as he turned
to shake hands with her that she held the child easily, as if she were
very strong. Then he was looking into eyes that suddenly seemed deeply
familiar.

"I don't remember much except the pool," said Charley. "How are we going
to thank you for taking care of Felicia?"

"I don't know how we are going to thank Felicia," Roger replied. "Where
is Ernest?"

Preble laughed. "He was pegging for all he was worth in the wrong
direction. We had some trouble to persuade him that he was wrong."

"That's Ernest, sure enough!" exclaimed Roger.

Preble went on more soberly. "It really isn't a laughing matter though,
a tenderfoot astray in this country. I tried to impress that upon him.
It just happened that Charley and I were out looking for our