"You folks had better have supper with us, to-morrow night," he suggested.
The Prebles accepted with alacrity and Roger wandered slowly home across the desert. He liked the Prebles, better than he had ever liked any family but Ernest's. Patience! He'd show that tall, dark-eyed girl that his fund was limitless.
Schmidt was worth two ordinary men, in spite of the fact that he was not in full health, and that he was deliberate in all his movements. His deliberation meant that he used his head to guide his hands. What with his steady persistent following of Roger's rapid, feverish energy and of Ernest's cheerful conscientious poddering, by mid-afternoon the engine house walls were half finished. When Charley, carrying a great basket, reached them about sundown, the door frames were almost covered in.
Ernest introduced Schmidt, who laughingly showed his muddy hands.
"I never saw three people who more evidently needed baths," Charley laughed in turn. "I suppose Felicia is the worst of the lot. Where is the child?"
"Felicia!" ejaculated Roger.
"She hasn't been here to-day," exclaimed Ernest.
Charley set the basket slowly down on the sand while her face whitened. "She started down here at nine o'clock with her doll and her olla."
There was a moment's silence, then Roger cried cheerfully, "Well, don't be frightened! Nothing could have happened to her. She must have gone on an investigating trip of her own."
"I'll go after Preble," said Ernest, "and we'll take the horses and round her up in a jiffy."