It was the dull period of the afternoon, the quiet, waiting period which comes between three or four o’clock and the sunset, and Bill and his wife sat in the shadow of the mighty silver spruce before their door.  The great tree was really more of a home for them than the roof they had built to sleep under.

Presently Caroline stood up and pointed.  “She’s coming,” she said, and, looking down the hillside, she smiled in anticipation.

The rider below them, winding up the trail, looked up and waved, then urged her horse to a full gallop for the short remnant of the distance before her.  It was Ruth Tolliver who swung down from the saddle, laughing and joyous from the ride.

A strangely changed Ruth she was.  She had turned to a brown beauty in the wind and the sun of the West, a more buoyant and more graceful beauty.  She had accepted none of the offers of John Mark, but, leaving her old life entirely behind her, as Ronicky Doone had suggested, she went West to make her own living.  With Caroline and Bill Gregg she had found a home, and her work was teaching the valley school, half a dozen miles away.

“Any mail?” asked Bill, for she passed the distant group of mail boxes on her way to the school.

At that the face of the girl darkened.  “One letter,” she said, “and I want you to read it aloud, Caroline.  Then we’ll all put our heads together and see if we can make out what it means.”  She handed the letter to Caroline, who shook it out.  “It’s from Ronicky,” she exclaimed.

“It’s from Ronicky,” said Ruth Tolliver gravely, so gravely that the other two raised their heads and cast silent glances at her.

Caroline read aloud:  “Dear Ruth, I figure that I’m overdue back at Bill’s place by about a month—­”

“By two months,” corrected Ruth soberly.

“And I’ve got to apologize to them and you for being so late.  Matter of fact I started right pronto to get back on time, but something turned up.  You see, I went broke.”

Caroline dropped the letter with an exclamation.  “Do you think he’s gone back to gambling, Ruth?”

“No,” said the girl.  “He gave me his promise never to play for money again, and a promise from Ronicky Doone is as good as minted gold.”

“It sure is,” agreed Bill Gregg.

Caroline went on with the letter:  “I went broke because Pete Darnely was in a terrible hole, having fallen out with his old man, and Pete needed a lift.  Which of course I gave him pronto, Pete being a fine gent.”

There was an exclamation of impatience from Ruth Tolliver.

“Isn’t that like Ronicky?  Isn’t that typical?”

“I’m afraid it is,” said the other girl with a touch of sadness.  “Dear old Ronicky, but such a wild man!”

She continued in the reading:  “But I’ve got a scheme on now by which I’ll sure get a stake and come back, and then you and me can get married, as soon as you feel like saying the word.  The scheme is to find a lost mine—­”