At the entrance to the unclean little hotel they parted, Banneker going further to find Mindle the “teamer,” whom he could trust and with whom he held conference, brief and very private.  They returned to the station together in the gathering darkness, got a hand car onto the track, and loaded it with a strange burden, after which Mindle disappeared into the storm with the car while Banneker wired to Stanwood an imperative call for a relief for next day even though the substitute should have to walk the twenty-odd miles.  Thereafter he made, from the shack, a careful selection of food with special reference to economy of bulk, fastened it deftly beneath his poncho, saddled his horse, and set out for the Van Arsdale lodge.  The night was pitch-black when he entered the area of the pines, now sonorous with the rush of the upper winds.

Io saw the gleam of his flashlight and ran to the door to meet him.

“Are you ready?” he asked briefly.

“I can be in fifteen minutes.”  She turned away, asking no questions.

“Dress warmly,” he said.  “It’s an all-night trip.  By the way, can you swim?”

“For hours at a time.”

Camilla Van Arsdale entered the room.  “Are you taking her away, Ban?  Where?”

“To Miradero, on the Southwestern and Sierra.”

“But that’s insanity,” protested the other.  “Sixty miles, isn’t it?  And over trailless desert.”

“All of that.  But we’re not going across country.  We’re going by water.”

“By water?  Ban, you are out of your mind.  Where is there any waterway?”

“Dry Bed Arroyo.  It’s running bank-full.  My boat is waiting there.”

“But it will be dangerous.  Terribly dangerous.  Io, you mustn’t.”

“I’ll go,” said the girl quietly, “if Ban says so.”

“There’s no other way out.  And it isn’t so dangerous if you’re used to a boat.  Old Streatham made it seven years ago in the big flood.  Did it in a bark canoe on a hundred-dollar bet.  The Arroyo takes you out to the Little Bowleg and that empties into the Rio Solano, and there you are!  I’ve got his map.”

“Map?” cried Miss Van Arsdale.  “What use is a map when you can’t see your hand before your face?”

“Give this wind a chance,” answered Banneker.  “Within two hours the clouds will have broken and we’ll have moonlight to go by....  The Angelica Herald man is over at the hotel now,” he added.

“May I take a suitcase?” asked Io.

“Of course.  I’ll strap it to your pony if you’ll get it ready.  Miss Camilla, what shall we do with the pony?  Hitch him under the bridge?”

“If you’re determined to take her, I’ll ride over with you and bring him back.  Io, think!  Is it worth the risk?  Let the reporter come.  I can keep him away from you.”

A brooding expression was in the girl’s deep eyes as she turned them, not to the speaker, but to Banneker.  “No,” she said.  “I’ve got to get away sooner or later.  I’d rather go this way.  It’s more—­it’s more of a pattern with all the rest; better than stupidly waving good-bye from the rear of a train.”