But he was hopeful that she would be cured, and said she was to meet him at the station.

“She’s an awfully nice girl, you understand,” he finished.  “It’s only that this thing got hold of her and needed driving out.”

Well, we were watching when the train drew in at Glacier Park Station, and she was there.  She was a very pretty girl, and it was quite touching to see him look at her.  But Aggie observed something and remarked on it.

“She’s not as glad to see him as he is to see her,” she said.  “He was going to kiss her, and she moved back.”

In the crowd we lost sight of them, but that evening, sitting in the lobby of the hotel, we saw Mr. Bell wandering round alone.  He looked depressed, and Aggie beckoned to him.

“How is everything?” she asked.  “Is the cure working?”

He dropped into a chair and looked straight ahead.

“Not so you could notice it!” he said bitterly.  “Would you believe that there’s a moving-picture outfit here, taking scenes in the park?”

“No!”

“There is.  They’ve taken two thousand feet of her already, dressed like an Indian,” he said in a tone of suppressed fury.  “It makes me sick.  I dare say if we tied her in a well some fool would lower a camera on a rope.”

Just at that moment she sauntered past us with a reddish-haired young man.  Mr. Bell ignored her, although I saw her try to catch his eye.

“That’s the moving-picture man with her,” he said in a low, violent tone when they had passed.  “Name’s Oliver.”  He groaned.  “He’s told her she ought to go in for the business.  She’d be a second Mary Pickford!  I’d like to kill him!” He rose savagely and left us.

We spent the night in the hotel at the park entrance, and I could not get to sleep.  Tish was busy engaging a guide and going over our supplies, and at eleven o’clock Aggie came into my room and sat down on the bed.

“I can’t sleep, Lizzie,” she said.  “That poor Mr. Bell is on my mind.  Besides, did you see those ferocious Indians hanging round?”

Well, I had seen them, but said nothing.

“They would scalp one as quick as not,” Aggie went on.  “And who’s to know but that our guide will be in league with them?  I’ve lost my teeth,” she said with a flash of spirit, “but so far I’ve kept my hair, and mean to if possible.  That old Indian has a scalp tied to the end of a stick.  Lizzie, I’m nervous.”

“If it is only hair they want, I don’t mind their taking my switch,” I observed, trying to be facetious, although uneasy.  As to the switch, it no longer matched my hair, and I would have parted from it without a pang.

“And another thing,” said Aggie:  “Tish can talk about ponies until she is black in the face.  The creatures are horses.  I’ve seen them.”

Well, I knew that, too, by that time.  As we walked to the hotel from the train I had seen one of than carrying on.  It was arching its back like a cat that’s just seen a strange dog, and with every arch it swelled its stomach.  At the third heave it split the strap that held the saddle on, and then it kicked up in the rear and sent saddle and rider over its head.  So far as I had seen, no casualty had resulted, but it had set me thinking.  Given a beast with an India-rubber spine and no sense of honor, I felt I would be helpless.