"Oh, Uncle Dick!" suddenly exclaimed Betty, "that is where Mr. Bolter has sent that beautiful black horse that he bought in England."
"Oh, indeed? I heard of that mare. To Cliffdale? I believe there is a stockfarm there. It is some distance from my friend Canary's camp, however."
"Do you suppose that girl got there?" whispered Bobby to Betty.
"Even if she did, how disappointed she must be," Betty rejoined. "I am awfully sorry for Ida Bellethorne."
"I don't know," said Bobby slowly. "I've been thinking. Suppose she did find your beautiful locket and—and appropriate it for her own use," finished Bobby rather primly.
"You mean steal it," said Betty promptly. "No. I don't think she did. She didn't seem to be that sort of person. Do you know, the more I think of her the more I consider that Mrs. Staples would be capable of doing that."
"Oh, Betty! Finding and keeping your locket?"
Betty nodded with her lips pursed soberly. "I didn't like that woman," she said.
"Neither did I," cried Bobby, easily influenced by her friend's opinion. "I didn't like her a bit."
"But, of course, we don't know a thing about it," sighed Betty. "I do not suppose we should blame either of them, or anybody else. We have no evidence. I guess, Bobby, I am the only one to blame, after all."