“But you haven’t told me yet how you happen to be here,” he suggested.  “I’d as soon have expected to see Ethel Henry coming up the gulch!”

“Didn’t you get our letters?” cried Bert in astonishment.

“No, I haven’t received any letters.  Did you write?”

“Did we write!  Well, I should think so!  We wrote three times, telling you we were coming and when to expect us.  Jeems and I wondered why you didn’t meet us.  That explains it.  Seems funny you didn’t get any of those letters!”

“No, I don’t believe it is so funny after all,” responded Bennington, who had been thinking it over.  “I remember now that Davidson told the others he had been intercepting my letters from the Company, and I suppose he got yours too.”

“That’s it, of course.  I’ll have to interview that Davidson later.  Well, we used to train around here off and on, as I told you once, and this year Jeems and I thought we’d do our summer sketching here, and sort of revive old times.  So we packed up and came.”

“I’m mighty glad you came, anyway,” replied Bennington fervently.

“So’m I. We’re just in time to help foil the villain.  As foilers Jeems and I are an artistic success.  We have studied foiling under the best masters in the Bowery and Sixth Avenue theatres.”

“Where’s Bill?” asked Jim suddenly.

“Will be around in the morning.  You’re to report progress at once.  Didn’t dare to come up until after the row.  Dreadful anxious though.  Would have come if Jeems and I hadn’t forbidden it.”

Bennington wondered vaguely who Bill might be, but he was beginning to feel a little tired from the excitement and his wound, so he said nothing.

“The next thing is grub,” remarked Fay, rising and gathering his pony’s reins.  “I’ll mosey up to the shack and see about supper.  You fellows can sit around and talk until I get organized.”

He turned to move away, leading his horse.

“Hold on a minute, Jim,” called Bert.  “You might lend me your bronc, and I’ll lope down and set Bill’s mind easy.  It won’t take long.”

“Good scheme!” approved Jim heartily.  “That’s thoughtful of you, Bertie!”

He dropped the reins where he stood, and the pony, with the usual well-trained Western docility, hung his head and halted.  Bert arose and looked down the shaft.

“Supper will be served shortly, gentlemen,” he observed suavely.  He turned toward the pony.

“Bert,” called Bennington in a different voice, “did you say you were going down the gulch?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to do something for me?”

“Why, surely.  What is it?”

“Would you just as soon stop at the Lawtons’ and tell Miss Lawton for me that it’s all right!  You’ll find the Lawton house——­”

“Yes, I know where the Lawton house is,” interrupted Bert, “but Miss Lawton, you said?”

“Don’t you remember, Bert,” put in James, “there is a kid there—­Maude, or something of that sort?”