“In this way forty-two miles of trail were cleared from ten to fourteen feet wide, most of our efforts being concentrated on the grading, bridges, and corduroying.  Four pastures were cleaned out, of about seven, six, and four cabullos each, or about twenty-three to twenty-six acres in all.  These pastures were burned and grass has started in most of them.  We built palm houses or shacks at each stopping-place.  We feel pretty well satisfied with the trail.  You must not get the idea that we have an automobile road, for we haven’t, but we are now much better prepared to handle supplies and machinery.”  Julius looked up.  “Suppose yours is as thrilling as that?  Now for a paragraph of yours.  Shall I open it for you?”

But by a quick motion she escaped him and had the letter.  She was laughing as she slipped it into some unknown place about her dress.

“Now see here,” Julius persisted, following her up the stairs.  “I have to look into this, as a brother.  Judging by the bulk of that letter it is not the first one from the same person.  How long have you two been corresponding in my absence and without my permission?”

Dorothy turned and faced him.  Her face was full of vivid colour, but her eyes were daring.  “Since August.”

“Hm!  Does he write entertaining letters?”

“Very.”

“Gives you a full report of his operations, I suppose, with a dip into the early history of the country and the result of his researches into the Spanish settlement.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Ever touch on anything personal?—­mutually personal, I mean, of course.”

“Never.”

Julius scanned her face.  “He writes me,” said he, “that instead of staying only six months it’s likely to be a year before he can come North.  The Company who picked him to go down and put this thing through has decided to make a much bigger thing of it than was at first intended.  Too bad, eh?  Fine for him; but a year’s quite a stretch for a chap who, as I recall it, went away with some reluctance—­just at the last.”

Dorothy met his intent eyes without flinching.  “He is so interested in his work I should say it was not too bad at all,” she responded.

She then was allowed to make her escape, while Julius went back downstairs, smiling to himself.  “That shot told,” he exulted.

In her room Dorothy opened her letter.  If Julius’s news were true she would soon know it.  Out of the envelope fell a small packet of photographs, but it was not their presence alone which had made it so bulky.  The letter itself was three times as long as her brother’s.