When the morning came, after a night of mental torture and bodily fear, her patience had been strained to the point of breaking, and resolve was steeling her courage.

The word that should have come from Searle was still delinquent.  But old Billy Stitts brought her a letter from Glen.

“Dear Sis:  I can only write a line or two.  Had a thump on the head, but it didn’t knock off my block.  Don’t worry.  All right in a few days, sure.  Guess you couldn’t come, or you’d be here, in response to my last.  But Searle might show up, anyhow.  You can write me now.  Hope you’re well and happy.  Is the brigand still on the job?  Can’t really write.  With love, GLEN.”

Her heart stood still as she; read her brother’s lines, in a scrawled hand indicative of weakness.  She resolved in that instant to go.

“Mr. Stitts,” she raid in remarkable calm, for all that she felt, “my brother needs some clothing—­everything complete, boots, shirts, and all.  He’s just about my size.  I wish you’d go and buy them.”

“Lord, I know the best and the cheapest in camp!” said Billy eagerly.  “I’ll have ’em here before you can write him your letter—­but the stage don’t go back till Friday.”

She had given no thought to the tri-weekly stage.  She dismissed it now, with a wave of gratitude towards Van for the horse—­gratitude, or something, surging warmly in her veins.  She almost wished he could ride at her side, but checked that lawlessness sternly.  She would ride to Glen alone!

CHAPTER XXIV

A BLIZZARD OF DUST

At daylight Beth was dressed as a man and surveying herself in the mirror.  She had passed a sleepless night.  She was fevered, excited, and nervous.

Her work had been admirably done.  She looked no more rawly new or youthful than scores of young tenderfeet, daily in the streets of the camp.  The stain on her face had furnished an astonishing disguise, supported as it was by male attire.  Her hair was all up in the crown of her hat, which was set on the back of her head.  It was fastened, moreover, with pins concealed beneath the leather band.  Altogether the disguise was most successful.  Beth had disappeared:  a handsome young man had been conjured in her place.

Her mare, which Billy had ordered, came promptly to the door.  She heard her arrive—­and her heart stroked more madly than before.  Trembling in every limb, and treading as softly as a thief, she made her way downstairs.

On the dining-room table was the package of lunch that Mrs. Dick had agreed to prepare.  Beth had told her she meant to take an early morning ride and might not be back in time for breakfast.  With this bundle in hand she went out at the door, her courage all but failing at thought of the man with the horse at the threshold.  She shrank from being seen in such an outfit.