Lina gave a little sigh.
"There is so much of the story I cannot tell you all. Strange that our silver arrow should have come into our possession in almost as mysterious a fashion!"
"Who knows but that I shot the silver arrow down into the canyon, or some other equally uninteresting person," Cecil Perry exclaimed. "We had a target on our place in Long Island and mother and her friends used to amuse themselves with bows and arrows. You did not know, Jeanette, that I can occasionally hit a target, if I am no good at other sports."
Jeanette paid no attention. She did not like the young fellow, and was apt to be slightly disdainful of persons whom she did not admire.
"Lina has not told you what I think is especially interesting concerning our silver arrow. The four of us saw it falling through the air. As it neared the ground instinctively we held our breath. I don't believe any one of us dreamed of being hurt. The arrow plunged into the water at the very edge near where I was seated, so that I drew it forth without difficulty. Afterwards the other girls were generous enough to say I had the right to own it. A moment later we made another decision. I cannot remember who suggested the idea, but at the end of a year our silver arrow is to be bestowed on the one of us who does the most courageous act."
Jeanette's glance challenged the little group.
"I don't see why we should think only of ourselves! Lina, if all of you agree, suppose we form a society, or a Club of the Silver Arrow. Do any of you wish to join? We could ask a number of older persons to judge to whom the arrow should be awarded.
"Cecil, perhaps you are like the young Indian, White Heart. You believe in wisdom and kindness, rather than in physical courage."
There was a little barbed arrow, not of silver, but of cruelty, in Jeanette Colter's speech. An instant later she regretted the unkindness. From the night of her stepmother's arrival at the Rainbow Ranch, Jeanette had felt an unaccustomed hardness and irritability.
A number of times since his arrival in the neighborhood Cecil Perry had showed himself lacking in ordinary physical courage. He was afraid of horses, of a sudden rush of cattle across the open country, of an unfriendly dog, and of half a dozen other small timidities he made no secret.