he special car, and expected to
join them on the following day, although Sylvia was quite prepared to
take the carriage journey across the country and dare all the risks of
the darkness and possible bad weather. Indeed, with the fine spirit of
the West and her own natural high courage, she wanted to go, saying that
she could stand as much as a man, and only Mrs. Grayson's refusal to
accompany her and the consequent lack of a chaperone compelled her to
abandon the idea. Now Harley and Mr. Grayson were very glad that she was
not out in the storm.

Although the hood of the carriage was down and the collar of Harley's
heavy coat was turned up to his ears, the cold rain, lashed by the
wind, struck him in the face now and then.

"You don't do anything by halves out here on these Western plains," he
said.

"No," replied Jimmy Grayson, "we don't deal in disguises; when we're hot
we're hot, and when we're cold we're cold. Now, after a perfect day,
we're having the wildest kind of a night. It's our way."

It was then ten o'clock, and they had expected to reach Speedwell at
midnight, crossing the Platte River on the big wooden bridge; but the
rain, the darkness, and the singularly sticky quality of the black
Nebraska mud would certainly delay them until one o'clock in the
morning, and possibly much later. It was not a cheerful prospect for
tired and sleepy men.

"Mr. Grayson," said Harley, "without seeking to discredit you, I wish I
had gone to another war instead of coming out here with you. That would
have been less wearing."

The candidate laughed.

"But you are seeing the West as few men from New York ever see it," he
said.

The driver turned, and a little stream of water ran off his hat-brim
into Harley's face.

"It's the wind that holds us back, Mr. Grayson," he said; "if we leave
the road and cut across the prairie on the hard ground it will save at
least an hour."

"By all means, turn out at once," said the candidate, "and the others
will follow."

"Wise driver; considerate man!" remarked Harley.

There was marked relief the moment the wheels of the carriage struck the
brown grass. They rolled easily once more, and the off horse, lifting up
his head, neighed cheerfully.

"It means midnight, and not later, Harley," said the candidate, in a
reassuring tone.

Harley leaned back in his seat, and trusted all now to the wise and
considerate driver who had proposed such a plan. The night was just as
black as