“Come for a spin,” Glen suggested.  “I want to hear all.  You paddle,” she ordered, as she turned herself about in the canoe.  “I have already had my morning’s exercise.”

“And so have I,” Reynolds laughingly replied, as he seated himself astern and sent the canoe from the wharf.

“But of a different nature, though?” and Glen looked quizzically into his face.

“Quite different.  I exercised my lungs, and your father did the same.”

“Not in anger, I hope.”

“Oh, no.  We had a great heart to heart talk, and got on splendidly.  We parted like two lambs, and are the best of friends.”

“You are!” The girl’s lips merely breathed the words, but they told of her great relief.

“Yes, it is true.  And more than that, we have already planned for a trip together in the hills, and you are to go with us, that is, if you wish to go.”

At these words, Glen’s face underwent a marvellous change.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded.  “Stay where you are.”

“Why, what is the matter?” and Reynolds looked his surprise as he paused in a stroke.

“Have you forgotten your dream last night?  It was bad, and first dreams in a new place are sure to come true.”

Reynolds laughed, as he again dipped the paddle into the water.

“Surely you are not superstitious, Miss Weston.  Why should one be alarmed at dreams?  They are nothing.”

“That may be true,” and Glen trailed her hand in the water.  “But an uneasy feeling has taken possession of me which I cannot banish.  I was brought up among Indians, you know, and they are naturally superstitious.”

“And they have filled your mind with nonsense, I suppose.”

“I am afraid so,” and the girl gave a deep sigh.

They were some distance up the creek now, and the canoe was gliding almost noiselessly through the water.  Glen asked Reynolds about his conversation with her father, and he told her all that had taken place.  She listened with the keenest interest.  Her face was aglow with animation, and her eyes shone with the light of astonishment.

“I can hardly believe it,” she exclaimed when Reynolds had finished.  “Anyway, I am so thankful that daddy did not get angry, I hope he will not change his mind.  He is so gentle and good at times, and again he is so stern and harsh.  Oh! what is that?” she cried, as something struck the water with a zip near the canoe.

Reynolds had ceased paddling, and was staring back at a spot where the water had been ruffled, but not by the motion of the canoe.  Then he glanced shoreward, and his eyes keenly searched the high ridge of the Golden Crest.

“It must have been a fish leaping for a fly,” he somewhat absently suggested.

“But I heard the report of a rifle,” Glen declared.  “It came from up there,” and she motioned to the right.

“Perhaps someone is hunting, and a stray bullet may have come this way.”