where you want to go."

"To Wenatchee. And I tho--ought--I understood--the conductor told me you
were going there, and this was your stop. It was his first trip over the
new Milwaukee, and we trusted--to you."

Tisdale pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. "I guess I am
responsible. I did tell that conductor I was going to Wenatchee when I
asked him to drop me at this siding, but I should have explained I
expected to find a saddle-horse here and take a cut-off to strike the
Ellensburg road. It should save an hour." He drew a Government map of the
quadrangle of that section from his pocket and opened it. "You see, your
stop was Ellensburg; the only through road starts there." He found the
thoroughfare and began to trace it with his forefinger. "It crosses rugged
country; follows the canyons through these spurs of the Cascades. They
push down sheer to the Columbia. See the big bend it makes, flowing south
for miles along the mountains trying to find a way out to the Pacific. The
river ought to be off there." He paused and swung on his heel to look
eastward. "It isn't far from this station. But even if we reached it, it
would be up-stream, against a succession of rapids, from here to
Wenatchee. A boat would be impossible." He folded the plat and put it
away, then asked abruptly: "Do you ride, madam?"

She gave him a swift side-glance and looked off in the direction of the
hidden Columbia. "Sometimes--but I haven't a riding habit."

Tisdale waited. The humor deepened a little at the corners of his mouth.
There was but one passenger train each way daily on the newly opened
Milwaukee road, and plainly she could not remain at this siding alone all
night; yet she was debating the propriety of riding through the mountains
to Wenatchee with him. Then unexpectedly the click of a telegraph cut the
stillness, and a sudden brightness leaped in her face. "A station master,"
she cried; "perhaps there's a telephone." And she hurried up the platform
to the open office door.

Tisdale slowly followed.

The station master, having transmitted his message, swung around on his
stool, and got to his feet in astonishment on seeing the girl.

"I have made a mistake," she said, with a wavering glance over the
interior, "and I tho--ought, I hoped there was a telephone. But you can
communicate with the nearest garage for me, can you not? Or a stable--or--
somewhere. You see," and for an instant the coquetry of a pretty woman who
knows she