Glen spent much of the next morning upon the water in her canoe.  She visited the places where she and Reynolds had gone that first day they had been together.  She lived over again that happy time, marred only by the shot from the Golden Crest.  She had almost forgotten it now, and her former anxiety had nearly vanished.  She had a slight feeling of fear as to what Curly might attempt to do to Reynolds at Big Draw, but when she thought of her lover’s strength she smiled confidently to herself.

About the middle of the afternoon she decided to go down to see Klota.  Telling Nannie that she would not be long, she donned her hat, and had just stepped out upon the verandah when she saw Sconda riding furiously toward the house.  His horse was white with foam and panting heavily.  For an instant Glen’s heart almost stopped beating, as she was certain that the Indian bore some bad news.  He had gone with Reynolds, and what would bring him back so soon and in such a manner unless something was seriously wrong?  All this flashed through her mind as she hurried down the steps just as Sconda drew rein in front of the house.

“What is the matter, Sconda?” she demanded.  “Tell me, quick.”

“White stranger in trouble,” was the brief reply.

“Where?” Glen asked, while her face turned pale.

“At white man’s camp.  Curly catch him.  Curly make big trouble.”

“Are you sure?  Did Mr. Reynolds send you here for help?”

“White stranger did not send Sconda.  Titsla tell Sconda at foot of Crooked Trail.”

“Oh, I see,” Glen mused.  “Titsla was at Big Draw with meat for the miners, and he found out that Curly was planning to harm Mr. Reynolds, eh?”

“Ah, ah, Titsla come quick.  Titsla tell Sconda.”

“And you rode fast to tell me?”

“Sconda come like the wind.  Look,” and he motioned to his weary horse.

Glen was thoroughly aroused now.  She was no longer the happy, free-from-care girl who had emerged from the house a few minutes before, but a woman stirred to a high pitch of anger, the same as when she faced Curly in front of the cabin by the lake.  Her father’s spirit possessed her now, and when Glen Weston’s eyes flashed as they did when she was aware of her lover’s danger, those best acquainted with her knew that she was capable of almost any deed of heroism.  Of a gentle, loving disposition, and true as steel to those who were true to her, there was hidden within her something of the primitive life of the wild, which, when stirred resembled the rushing tempests of her familiar mountains.

Turning to Sconda she gave a few terse orders, and when the Indian had received them, he wheeled his horse and headed him for the village.  Glen at once hurried back into the house, went to her own room, and in a short time reappeared, clad in her riding-suit.  She met Nannie at the foot of the stairs, and briefly explained the object of her mission.