ON the way to Roosevelt, before the Overland girls caught up with him, Ike Fairweather had met a deputy sheriff and posse, who had been in the mountains looking for a horse thief, but were now returning to the place for which the Overlanders were headed.
From Ike the deputy learned of the attacks on the Overland girls, and of their plucky defense. Ike, furthermore, became loquacious, told the officer all he knew about Grace Harlowe and her friends, not forgetting the redoubtable Hippy Wingate who had “shot down more German airplanes than any other man in the Allied armies.”
When the deputy reached Roosevelt, he repeated Ike’s story at the Lodge, as the hotel at Roosevelt Lake was called, so, without their knowledge, the Overlanders’ praises were sung there some hours in advance of their arrival. When the girls came up with Ike just before noon that day, and took luncheon with him, Mr.Fairweather discreetly neglected to mention what he had told the deputy sheriff about them.
Three hours later the Overland Riders reached the bottom of the grade to Roosevelt, rounded the “painted rocks” that stood sentinel over the trail there, and walked their horses across the great spillway of Roosevelt Dam, more than three hundred yards in length, this spillway releasing the surplus water from Lake Roosevelt, which is formed by the waters held in check and backed up by Roosevelt Dam. The water in its nearly three hundred feet fall from the top of the spillway roared into Salt River Canyon, a miniature Niagara, sending up clouds of rainbow spray, the thunder of its fall echoing down the canyon for miles.
Elfreda Briggs, who was riding by Grace’s side, leaned over and shouted into her companion’s ear:
“Hippy can indulge in as much oratory as he pleases here. No one will hear him above the roar of the waterfall, for which much thanks.”
Grace nodded and grinned.
After crossing the spillway, the party turned to the right and followed a shining white trail along the edge of the lake to the Apache Lodge, which was located, they found, between the east and west arms of the lake.
Some difficulty was experienced in finding aplace where they could stake down their ponies, but finally succeeding in tethering the animals, they quickly removed the packs from the backs of “man, woman and beast,” as Miss Briggs characterized it.
“Lieutenant, if you do not mind going bare-headed, we will all walk over to the Lodge and see if they will let us in,” said Grace.
It was a dust-covered, brown-faced, bright-eyed party of girls who mounted the steps of the veranda of the Lodge, where a group of tourists were enjoying the cool mountain air of the late afternoon. All eyes were turned on the newcomers.
“The one with the brown hair is Grace Harlowe. The man is the great American Ace,” Grace heard one of the tourists confide to a companion.
The Overton girl gave the speaker a brief, steady look.
“I will see if I can arrange for accommodations for us here,” said Grace, turning to the young women of her party. “Perhaps it will be as well for you to wait on the veranda.”
“Ask the proprietor if he has any old hats for sale,” suggested Hippy Wingate as Grace was entering the Lodge, at which there was an audible titter from several of the women guests of the place.
“Have you room, sir, for a party of six not very presentable persons?” questioned Grace, smiling at the clerk.
“For you, yes. I believe you are Mrs. Grace Harlowe Gray, are you not?”
The Overton girl looked her amazement.
“May I ask how you know my name, sir?”
“The deputy sheriff told me that you and your party were on the way here. How many rooms do you require?”
“Three with baths. I do not know how long we shall remain, but probably not longer than some time to-morrow. We shall go into camp when what is left of our equipment arrives.”
“Yes, I understand that you ladies have had a mishap,” volunteered the clerk.
“Is there anything that this man doesn’t know about us?” she wondered. To the clerk she said: “We shall need a reliable man to watch our horses to-night. Will you be so kind as to send some one to us, some person who is to be depended upon?”
The clerk said he would, and that the rooms for the party would be ready whenever they desired to take possession.
Grace returned to the veranda, and, as she stepped out, she halted and gazed in amazement. Elfreda, Hippy and the others of her party were speaking with a tall, bronzed man of distinguishedappearance. With him were a gentleman and three ladies. Grace recognized him of the distinguished bearing instantly.
“General Gordon! How do you do!” she greeted, flushing with pleasure.
The general strode forward and grasped both her hands.
“My dear Mrs. Gray, I am happy beyond words to see you again. This is my wife; and Colonel Cartwright, the colonel’s sister, and Mrs. Cartwright. The colonel served with us in France, but I believe you never met him, which was a misfortune for both.”
“This young woman,” announced the general to his friends, but in a tone of voice loud enough to be heard by most persons on the veranda, “saved my life on the battlefield in the Argonne. Had it not been for her, I should not be here. I have already told Mrs. Gordon the story.”
“Please, General,” begged Grace, flushing with embarrassment, but the general went on unheeding.
“Mrs. Gray dragged me into a deserted German machine-gun nest after I had been wounded on the field, manned a machine gun and held the Boches off until she could flash Morse signals to our lines that night. We were, at that time, being fired upon by both armies. A braver woman does not live.”
“Suppose we speak of the beauties of the Old Apache Trail,” suggested Grace, which brought a hearty laugh from all, and relieved the tension under which she was suffering.
“When I heard that Grace Harlowe Gray and her friends of the Overton Unit had proved themselves the heroines of the trail, I said, ‘That’s our Grace Harlowe, the doughboys’ Grace Harlowe,’ and I was glad. You must join our party this evening and we will talk war,” he urged.
“Grace, here is an Indian who wishes to speak with you,” interrupted Hippy.
“Me take care ponies,” said the Indian. “Me Joe Smoky Face.”
“Do you work about the Lodge?” questioned Grace.
“Yes.”
“I will see the clerk about you. Please excuse me for a moment.” Grace stepped briskly into the Lodge, followed by Lieutenant Wingate and the Indian. During her absence, the general briefly related the story, as he knew it, of the work of the Overton Unit in France.
“I think the man understands what is required of him. The clerk says he is dependable,” announced Grace upon her return to the veranda. “The horses being arranged for, I think we will go to our quarters now, if you will excuse us, General.”
“You will join us at dinner, Mrs. Gray?” questioned the general.
“Yes, thank you.”
The Overton girls went to their rooms, not to appear again until just before dinner time. Wearing fresh uniforms, well groomed, eyes sparkling, cheeks tinged with faint flushes, they elicited a murmur of approval from the tourists as they stepped out on the veranda to join General Gordon and his party.
“Mess is served,” announced the general.
“Yes, but oh, so different,” laughingly replied Grace Harlowe.
At the general’s request, one table had been set to accommodate the two parties, and the dinner proved to be a happy occasion for all. At the general’s suggestion, it was decided that the two parties should take a launch trip the length of Lake Roosevelt on the following morning. The general said he would charter a launch, that they would take their luncheons with them and have a real picnic at the mouth of Tonto Creek at the upper end of the lake, thirty miles away.
A delightful evening was passed at the Lodge where Grace and the general exchanged war reminiscences, after which the girls went to their quarters for the night. Hippy strolled out to look over the ponies and to give JoeSmoky Face final instructions, then returned to the Lodge and went to bed.
The Overton girls were sound asleep by then. It was the first night, since they started over the Apache Trail, that they had been free from nerve-strain, but there were other nights coming, nights that they felt would hold a full measure of excitement and adventure for them, and none realized this possibility better than did Grace Harlowe herself.