y killing himself to get back for dinner with her.
An hour in the open banished her pettishness, and she drove rapidly along
the narrow, twisting, unfamiliar road, finding a wild pleasure in her
reckless speed. She loved this, she loved it, she loved it. She clapped
on a little more gas to show how very dearly she did love it.

After a long time, she found herself far out in a long stretch of gray
prairie where no houses broke the bare line of the plains for many miles.
It had grown bitterly cold, too, and a sudden daub of gray splashed
rapidly across the whole bright sky. Connie drew a rug about her and
laughed at the wind that cut her face. It was glorious,--but--she
glanced at the speedometer. She had come a long way. She would just run
on to the next village and have some luncheon,--mercy, it was three
o'clock. Well, as soon as she had something to eat, she would hurry home
and perhaps if Prince showed himself properly penitent she would not go
right straight to bed.

She pressed down on the accelerator and the car sped forward. Presently
she looked around, sniffing the air suspiciously. The sky looked very
threatening. She stopped the car and got out. The wind sweeping down
from the mountains was a little too suggestive of snow flakes, and the
broad stretch of the plains was brown, bare and forbidding. She was not
hungry anyhow. She would go home without any luncheon. So she turned
the car and started back.

Here and there at frequent intervals intersecting roads crossed the one
she was following. She must keep to the main road, the heaviest track,
she was sure of that. But sometimes it was hard to recognize the
heaviest track. Once or twice, in the sudden darkening of the ground,
she had to leap hurriedly out and examine the tracks closely. Even then
she could not always tell surely.

Then came the snow, stinging bits of glass leaping gaily on the shoulders
of the wind that bore them. Connie set her teeth hard. A little flurry
that was all, she was in no danger, whoever heard of a snow-storm the
first week in October?

But--ah, this was not the main track after all,--no, it was dwindling
away. She must go back. The road was soft here, with deep treacherous
ruts lying under the surface. She turned the car carefully, her eyes
intent on the road before her, leaning over the wheel to watch. Yes,
this was right,--she should have turned to the left. How stupid of her.
Here was the track,--s