Throughout the day and until dusk the four of them laboured, making camp.  Barstow and Evans lugged the various articles, boxes, rolls of bedding, up through the cleft in the rocks.  They had brought in the wagon-bed some loose boards of various sizes; these they made into a rough floor.  At the four corners of the floor they erected studding of two-by-four lumber.  These they braced and steadied; they nailed other lengths of two-by-four material along the tops, outlining walls; they hacked and sawed and hammered and nailed to such advantage that in the end they had the misshapen frame of a cabin, rafters and all.  Then over the rafters and along the sides they secured the canvas destined for the purpose.  Doors and windows were canvas flaps; the sheet-iron stove was set up on four flat stones for legs; the stovepipe was run through a hole in the roof.  And when Chuck Evans and Tod Barstow, amateurs in the carpenter’s line, stood back and wiped the sweat off their brown faces and looked with fond and prideful eyes at their handiwork, Helen and her father were no whit less delighted.

‘If you want more room after a while,’ said Barstow, ’it’d be easy to tack more sheds on and run canvas over them, just the same as what we done.  Me and Chuck would come up most any time and lend a hand.’

The breeze stiffened and the crazy edifice shivered.

‘I don’t know as I’d make it much bigger,’ said Evans.  ’If a real blow come on and the wind got inside—­Say, Tod, how about a few guy ropes?  Huh?’

Barstow agreed, and they brought what ropes they had in the wagon and ‘staked her out, same as if she was a runaway horse,’ as Chuck put it.  In other words, they ran one rope from the rear end of the ridge of the house to the base of a conveniently-located pine tree; then they secured the second rope to the other end of the ridge-pole and anchored it to a big boulder.  Meanwhile Helen opened some cans and made coffee on the newly-adjusted stove and they sat on the grass by the spring and made their evening meal.  After which Barstow and Evans went down to their wagon and returned to Desert Valley.  And James Edward Longstreet and his daughter sat alone upon their camp-stools in front of their new abode and looked off across the valley and into the distances.

The day departed slowly, lingeringly.  The soft night came little by little, a misty veil floating into a hollow yonder, a star shining, the breeze strengthening and cooling.  Before the twilight was gone and while one might look for miles across the billowing landscapes, they saw a horseman riding down in the valley; he appeared hardly more than a vague moving dot.  And yet——­

‘It’s Mr. Howard!’ cried Helen.

Longstreet withdrew his straining eyes and turned them wonderingly upon his daughter.

‘How in the world do you know?’ he asked.

Helen smiled, a quiet smile of transcendent wisdom.