verything Van had done. She
felt the warmest indignation at herself for breaking into bits of song,
for glowing to the tips of her ears, for letting her heart leap wildly
in her breast whenever she thought of the horseman.

Two days went by and she chafed under continued restraints. No word
had come from Bostwick, none from Glen--and not a sign from the
"Laughing Water" claim. From the latter she said to herself she wished
no sign. But Searle had no right to leave her thus and neglect her in
every respect.

The morning of the third long day Mrs. Dick brought her two thin
letters. One had been mailed in Goldite, by a messenger down from the
"Laughing Water" claim. It came from Van. He had written the briefest
of notes:

"Just to send my love. I want you to wear my nugget."

Folded into the paper was a spray of the wild peach bloom.

Beth tried to think her blushes were those of indignation, which
likewise caused the beat of her heart to rise. But her hand fluttered
prettily up to her breast, where the nugget was pinned inside her
waist. Also his letter must have been hard to understand--she read it
seventeen times.

Then she presently turned to the other. It was addressed in
typewritten characters, but the writing inside she knew--her brother
Glen's.

"Dear Old Sis: Say, what in the dickens are you doing out here in the
mines, by all that's holey?--and what's all this story in the Goldite
_News_ about one Bronson Van Buren doing the benevolent brigand stunt
with you and your maid, and shunting Searle off with the Cons? Why
couldn't you let a grubber know you were hiking out here to the desert?
Why all this elaborate surprise--this newspaper wireless to your fond
and lonesome?

"What's the matter with your writing hand? Is this Van-brigand holding
them both? What's the matter with Searle? I wrote him two or three
aeons ago, when he might have been of assistance. Now I'm doing my
eight hours a day in an effort to sink down to China. I'm on the
blink, in a way, but not for long, for this is the land where
opportunity walks night and day to thump on your door--and I'll grab
her by the draperies yet.

"But _me_!--working as a common miner!--though I've got a few days off
to go and look at a claim with a friend of mine, so you needn't answer
till you hear again.

"If Searle is dead, why don't he say so? I only touched him for a few
odd dollars--I only needed a grub-stake--fifty would have done