“Miss Argyl ain’t come back yet, Mr. Conniston,” she told him.  “She went out this mornin’ an’ ain’t showed up since.  I reckon, though, she’ll be back real soon now.  It’s after supper-time already.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“No, sir.  She didn’t say.  Won’t you come in an’ wait for her?”

“No,” he answered, after a moment.  “I’d better not.  If Miss Crawford has been all day in the saddle she will be tired.  I’ll drop in in the morning.”

“Maybe that would be better,” Mrs. Ridley nodded at him.  “We’re up early—­breakfast at five.  You might run in an’ eat with us?”

Conniston promised to do so, and returned to the office, more than a little disappointed at not having seen Argyl, wondering whither her long ride could have taken her.  Until late that night he and Garton talked, planned, and prepared for the work of to-morrow.  It was barely five the next morning when he again knocked at the cottage door.  Again Mrs. Ridley answered his knock.

“Am I too early?” Conniston smiled at her.  “I noticed your smoke going.  Is Miss Crawford up yet?”

“Miss Crawford—­” He saw that she hesitated, saw a nervous uneasiness in her manner as she plucked with quick fingers at the hem of her apron.  “She ain’t come in yet!”

“What!” cried Conniston, sharply.  “What do you mean?  Where is she?”

“I—­I don’t know, sir.  She ain’t come back yet.”

“You mean that Miss Crawford left yesterday morning and that she has not returned since that time?  That she has been gone twenty-four hours—­all night?”

“Yes, sir.”  The old woman was eying him with eyes into which a positive fear was creeping, her lips trembling as she spoke.  “You don’t think anything has happened—­”

“I don’t know!” he cried, sternly.  “Why didn’t you let me know last night?”

“I didn’t know what to do.”  The tears had actually sprung into her eyes.  “I thought she must be all right.  I thought mebbe she’d gone to Crawfordsville or to the Half Moon.”

Conniston left her abruptly and hastened to the office.

“Tommy,” he called, from the doorway, “do you know where Miss Crawford is?  Where she went yesterday?”

“No.  Why?” Garton, sensing from the other’s tones that something was wrong, swept up his crutches and hurried forward.

“She left yesterday morning,” Conniston told him, as he went to the desk and picked up the telephone.  “She hasn’t come back yet.  Mrs. Ridley doesn’t know anything about her.”  And to the operator: 

“Give me the Crawford house.  Quick, please!  Yes, in Crawfordsville.”

Upon the face of each man there were lines of uneasiness.  Garton propped himself up against the desk and lighted a cigarette, his eyes never leaving Conniston’s face.

“Can’t you get anybody?” he asked, after a moment.

“No.  What’s that, Central?  They don’t answer?  Then get me the bunk-house at the Half Moon.  Yes, please!  I’m in a hurry.”