The next morning, although Eveley knew her arms were too stiff and sore for work, she decided to go to the office anyhow to see the day well started.
“They will send me home, and I shall be here for luncheon with you. I can not drive yet, so I’ll just cross the bridge and go on the street-car.”
As she stood on the swinging bridge, looking down into the lovely canyon, it seemed impossible that there in the friendly shadows such horrible dangers had menaced them. Of a sudden impulse, she ran back, and climbed carefully down to where she had clung so grimly to the tangled vines and had knocked Marie’s assailant from the path.
No, it was no dream. The vines were torn and mangled and on the path were the marks of trampling feet, and peering down the canyon she could discern two distinct trails where the men had tumbled and reeled. She slowly followed the trails, picking her way carefully, clinging to bits of shrub. Her lips curved into a grim smile as she pictured their surprise and pain. At the foot of the canyon she saw something shining among the rocks.
She lifted it curiously, and turned it in her hand. It was clean and shining,—a small steel badge marked Secret Service.
Eveley’s eyes clouded, and her brows took on a troubled frown, as she put the badge carefully into her purse.
“I shall never tell Marie,” she said. “It would not help much with the Americanization of a sweet and trusting foreign girl to know she had been followed at night by a steel badge marked Secret Service.”
And Eveley followed the path back to the bridge again with a grieved and troubled air.