"How can I tell? I ain't seen your dad for nigh onto a month," returns Lot, apparently somewhat discomposed by this point-blank question.
"But you can surely make a guess," suggests Erma, "where a telegram will most probably reach him? I have concluded to wire him. Then he will meet me at the station. I wish I had done so before."
"Wall, Salt Lake is the most likely p'int, I reckon," mutters Kruger, who does not seem over pleased at the girl's idea. A second after he suddenly says: "You write the message and I'll make inquiries along the line. I reckon I'll find where he is and send it for you."
"Thank you," says Erma warmly. "I'll go and prepare it at once."
Then leaving Lot still pondering, she steps lightly away, and in a few minutes returns with the following:
"U. P. Train, Oct. 3, 1871.
"Arrive at Ogden, to-morrow, at five P.M. Will come through to Salt Lake same night. Meet me at depot.
"Your loving daughter,
"Erma Travenion."
"You'll add the right address to this when you find it, Mr. Kruger," says the girl, handing him the message.
"Yes, I'll make inquiries at Medicine Bow," returns Lot, taking the message, "and your dad'll get it to-morrow morning."
"Oh, you are going to stay up to send it? We don't get to Medicine Bow till late, I know by my time table. How kind you are! Papa shall thank you for this, also, dear Mr. Kruger," and Erma holds out a soft patrician hand, that is greedily seized in strong fingers made hard and red by exposure and toil.
Retreating from the grip, however, this New York young lady says earnestly, "Thank you once more, and au revoir until to-morrow."