CHAPTER XXIII
GREAT DAYS
That very afternoon Allen composed a letter to Paul Loup's concert manager—advised and censored by the girls, of course—and they all rode off to town to mail it in time to catch the four o'clock outgoing mail.
"Now," said Mollie, as, this duty well performed, they started back to the ranch, "I feel better. We've started something, anyway."
"Let's hope that we can finish it," added Grace, dubiously.
They did not expect an answer to this epistle within ten days, and in the meantime they found plenty to keep them busy around the ranch.
Progress at the mines was swift, and almost any minute now they might expect to hear the glorious tidings that some one had "struck it rich."
Nothing had been seen of Peter Levine since that memorable night when the map had been taken from him, and it was rumored that the rascally lawyer had left town.
"And the longer he keeps away the healthier it will be for him, I reckon," Allen said, adding with a laugh: "Gee, but it makes me happy every time I think of how sore that chap may be."