trellises; water--that precious element in Devil's Ford--had not been
spared in keeping green through the long drought the plants which the
girls had so tenderly nurtured. It was the one oasis in which the summer
still lingered; and yet a singular sense of loss came over the girls as
they once more crossed its threshold. It seemed no longer their own.

"Ef I was you, Miss Christie, I'd keep close to the house for a day or
two, until--until--things is settled," said Dick; "there's a heap o'
tramps and sich cattle trapsin' round. P'raps you wouldn't feel so
lonesome if you was nearer town--for instance, 'bout wher' you useter
live."

"In the dear old cabin," said Christie quickly; "I remember it; I wish
we were there now."

"Do you really? Do you?" said Whiskey Dick, with suddenly twinkling
eyes. "That's like you to say it. That's what I allus said," continued
Dick, addressing space generally; "if there's any one ez knows how
to come square down to the bottom rock without flinchin', it's your
high-toned, fash'nable gals. But I must meander back to town, and let
the boys know you're in possession, safe and sound. It's right mean that
Fairfax and Mattingly had to go down to Lagrange on some low business
yesterday, but they'll be back to-morrow. So long."

Left alone, the girls began to realize their strange position. They had
conceived no settled plan. The night they left San Francisco they had
written an earnest letter to their father, telling him that on learning
the truth about the reverses of Devil's Ford, they thought it their duty
to return and share them with others, without obliging him to prefer the
request, and with as little worry to him as possible. He would find them