Prince wheeled toward her sharply.  “Is Connie out in the car?”

“Yes,” said Carol, staring off down the road in a vain hope of catching sight of the naughty little runaway in the gray car.

“When did she go?” he asked.

“About eleven.  She wasn’t coming home until after dinner."’

“How far was she going?”

“A long way, she said.  She went that direction,” Carol pointed out to the right.

“Is it going to storm?” asked David, coming up.

“Yes, it is.  But don’t you worry, Mrs. Duke.  I’ll get her all right.  If it turns bad, I will take her to some little village or farm-house where she can stay till morning.  We’ll be all right, and don’t you worry.”

There was something very assuring in the hearty voice, something consoling in his clear eyes and broad shoulders.  Carol followed him out to his horse.

“Prince,” she said, smiling up at him, “you will get her, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.  You aren’t worrying, are you?”

“Not since you got home,” said Carol.  “I know you will get her.  I like you, Prince.”

“Do you?” He was boyishly pleased.  “Does—­does David?”

Carol laughed.  “Yes, and so does Julia,” she teased.

Prince laughed, too, shamefacedly, but he dared not ask, “Does Connie?”

He turned his horse quickly and paused to say, “You’d better get your husband inside.  He will chill in spite of the rugs.  It is winter, to-night.  Good-by.”

“He will get her,” said Carol confidently, when she returned to David.  “He is nice, don’t you think so?  Maybe he would be perfectly all right—­in the city.  Connie could straighten him out.”

“Yes, brush off the dust, and give him an opera hat and a dinner coat and he would not be half bad.”

“He is not half bad now, only—­not exactly our kind.”

“Women are funny,” said David slowly.  “I believe Connie likes his kind, just as he is, and would not have him changed for anything.”

At first, Prince had no difficulty in following the wide roll of Connie’s wheels, for no other cars had gone that way.  But once or twice he had to drop from the saddle and examine the tracks closely to make sure of her.  Then came the snow, and the tracks were blurred out.  Prince was in despair.

“Three roads here,” he thought rapidly.  “If she took that one she will come to Marker’s ranch, and be all right.  If she took the middle road she will make Benton.  But this one, it winds and twists, and never gets any place.”

So on the road to the left, that led to no place at all, Prince carefully guided his weary horse, already beginning to stumble.  He sympathized with every aching step, yet he urged her gently to her best speed.  Then she slipped, struggled to regain her footing, struck a treacherous bit of ice, and fell, Prince swinging nimbly from the saddle.  Plainly she was unable to carry him farther, so he helped her to her feet and turned her loose, pushing on as fast as he could on foot.