about
Murray's ranch--it's in a gulch just below timber line. She asked me
to come and visit her--and I'm going."

"Then I'll go with you!" retorted Smythe.

She looked at him intently, and smiled in a way that puzzled and
disturbed him. But before he could make any considerable effort to
analyze it, the smile had fled, and he was following Marion helplessly
down the hill.

At the steps of the veranda she paused, and waited for him.

"I'll be out in a minute," she said; and left him seating himself
uneasily, his perplexity plainly showing in his face.

Marion opened the door, and faltered on the threshold. Seth was there
with Claire; and she must face them both.

"Mr. Smythe wants me to go for a ride with him," she said, advancing
smilingly. "We can start to-morrow on the shooting trip, can't we,
Cousin Seth?"

She had not often called him "Cousin Seth" of late; and he was
delighted.

"Well," he said reflectively, "I'd rather planned starting to-day, but
if to-morrow suits you better it's all right, Marion. Go along with
your young man!"

Claire was studying her anxiously, and Marion hastened to disarm her.

"Thank you, Seth!" she said. "You see, I'm not feeling quite myself
this morning--such a night I had! A short ride will be about all I'm
good for. I'll feel better to-morrow."

"Well, then, dear," said Claire, "you'll not be gone long, will you?"

"Don't worry!" was the evasive reply. "Mr. Smythe will take good care
of me."

On that she kissed Claire, nodded brightly to Huntington, and hurried
away. Almost running in her eagerness, she led the way to the stable,
where two horses stood saddled, with rifles in leather cases hanging
from the saddlebows, and bundles strapped behind. Smythe started to
remove the gun from Tuesday's saddle.

"No, leave it there!" commanded Marion.

"Certainly. But why?" asked Smythe.

"I don't know," she replied. "It just occurred to me."

"But the bundle? You won't need that."

"No. But yes--leave it! It's not very big."

Smythe looked at her keenly, and with a vague suspicion; but there was
no confusion in her face or manner. She was, in fact, not thinking of
the bundle or the gun; or if she thought of them--Such rigid
instruments as words, worn blunt with usage and misuse, are quite
inadequate to describe the faint and fugitive character of that
thought,--the idea still in its inception, inchoate, embryo. She was
going to Murray's for news of Philip Haig; and