"Aha!...If that red devil has any love in him I'll never get it.I wish Icould have done so much for him.But always when he sees me he'll remember."Lucy saw that the rider was in difficulties.He could not bend his back, and evidently it pained him to try.His brow was moist.
"Let me do that," she said.
"Thanks.It took about all my strength to get into this new outfit," he said, relinquishing, his place to Lucy.
When she looked up from her task, presently, he was sitting in the shade of the cedar, watching her.He had the expression of a man who hardly believed what he saw.
"Did you have any trouble gettin' away, without tellin'--about me?" he asked.
"No.But I sure had a job with those packs," she replied.
"You must be a wonder with a horse."
As far as vanity was concerned Lucy had only one weakness--and he had touched upon it.
"Well, Dad and Holley and Farlane argue much about me.Still, I guess they all agree I can ride.""Holley an' Farlane are riders?" he questioned.
"Yes, Dad's right-hand men."
"Your dad hires many riders, I supposed?""Sure I never heard of him turning any rider down, at least not without a try.""I wonder if he would give me a job?"
Lucy glanced up quickly.The idea surprised her--pleased her."In a minute,"she replied."And he'd be grand to you.You see, he'd have an eye for Wildfire."The rider nodded his head as if he understood how that would be.
"And of course you'd never sell nor trade Wildfire?" went on Lucy.
The rider's smile was sad, but it was conclusive.
"Then you'd better stay away from Bostil," returned Lucy, shortly.
He remained silent, and Lucy, busy about the campfire, did not speak again till the simple fare was ready.Then she spread a tarpaulin in the shade.
"I'm pretty hungry myself," she said."But I don't suppose I know what hunger is.""After a while a fellow loses the feelin' of hunger," he replied."I reckon it'll come back quick....This all looks good."So they began to eat.Lucy's excitement, her sense of the unreality of this adventure, in no wise impaired her appetite.She seemed acutely sensitive to the perceptions of the moment.The shade of the cedars was cool.And out on the desert she could see the dark smoky veils of heat lifting.The breeze carried a dry odor of sand and grass.She heard bees humming by.And all around the great isolated monuments stood up, red tops against the blue sky.
It was a silent, dreaming, impressive place, where she felt unlike herself.
"I mustn't stay long," she said, suddenly remembering.
"Will you come back--again?" he asked.
The question startled Lucy."Why--I--I don't know....Won't you ride in to the Ford just as soon as you're able?""I reckon not."
"But it's the only place where there's people in hundreds of miles.Surely you won't try to go back the way you came?""When Wildfire left that country I left it.We can't back.""Then you've no people--no one you care for?" she asked, in sweet seriousness.
"There's no one.I'm an orphan.My people were lost in an Indian massacre--with a wagon-train crossin' Wyomin'.A few escaped, an' I was one of the youngsters.I had a tough time, like a stray dog, till I grew up.An' then I took to the desert.""Oh, I see.I--I'm sorry," replied Lucy."But that's not very different from my dad's story, of his early years....What will you do now?""I'll stay here till my back straightens out....Will you ride out again?""Yes," replied Lucy, without looking at him; and she wondered if it were really she who was speaking.
Then he asked her about the Ford, and Bostil, and the ranches and villages north, and the riders and horses.Lucy told him everything she knew and could think of, and, lastly, after waxing eloquent on the horses of the uplands, particularly Bostil's, she gave him a graphic account of Cordts and Dick Sears.
"Horse-thieves!" exclaimed the rider, darkly.There was a grimness as well as fear in his tone."I've heard of Sears, but not Cordts.Where does this band hang out?""No one knows.Holley says they hide up in the canyon country.None of the riders have ever tried to track them far.It would be useless.Holley says there are plateaus of rich grass and great forests.The Ute Indians say that much, too.But we know little about the wild country.""Aren't there any hunters at Bostil's Ford?""Wild-horse hunters, you mean?"
"No.Bear an' deer hunters."
"There's none.And I suppose that's why we're not familiar with the wild canyon country.I'd like to ride in there sometime and camp.But our people don't go in for that.They love the open ranges.No one I know, except a half-witted boy, ever rode down among these monuments.And how wonderful a place! It can't be more than twenty miles from home....I must be going soon.I'm forgetting Sage King.Did I tell you I was training him for the races?""No, you didn't.What races? Tell me," he replied, with keen interest.
