"Lift me--my head," he said, faintly.

She raised his head. What a strained, passionate, terrible gaze he bent
upon the horses.

"Boy, they're mine--the black an' the red!" he cried.

"They surely must be," replied Lucy. "Oh! tell me. Are you hurt?"

"Boy! did you catch them--fetch them back--lookin' for me?"

"I sure did."

"You caught-that red devil--an' fetched him--back to me?" went on the
wondering, faint voice. "Boy--oh--boy!"

He lifted a long, ragged arm and pulled Lucy down. The action amazed
her equally as his passion of gratitude. He might have been injured,
but he had an arm of iron. Lucy was powerless. She felt her face
against his--and her breast against his. The pounding of his heart was
like blows. The first instant she wanted to laugh, despite her pity.
Then the powerful arm--the contact affected her as nothing ever before.
Suppose this crippled rider had taken her for a boy--She was not a boy!
She could not help being herself. And no man had ever put a hand on
her. Consciousness of this brought shame and anger. She struggled so
violently that she freed herself. And he lay back.

"See here--that's no way to act--to hug--a person," she cried, with
flaming cheeks.

"Boy, I--"

"I'm NOT a boy. I'm a girl."

"What!"

Lucy tore off her sombrero, which had been pulled far forward, and this
revealed her face fully, and her hair came tumbling down. The rider
gazed, stupefied. Then a faint tinge of red colored his ghastly cheeks.

"A girl! ... Why--why 'scuse me, miss. I--I took you--for a boy."

He seemed so astounded, he looked so ashamed, so scared, and withal, so
haggard and weak, that Lucy immediately recovered her equanimity.

"Sure I'm a girl. But that's no matter.... You've been thrown. Are you
hurt?"

He smiled a weak assent.

"Badly?" she queried. She did not like the way he lay--so limp, so
motionless.

"I'm afraid so. I can't move."

"Oh! ... What shall I do?"

"Can you--get me water?" he whispered, with dry lips.

Lucy flew to her horse to get the small canteen she always carried. But
that had been left on her saddle, and she had ridden Van's. Then she
gazed around. The wash she had crossed several times ran near where the
rider lay. Green grass and willows bordered it. She ran down and,
hurrying along, searched for water. There was water in places, yet she
had to go a long way before she found water that was drinkable. Filling
her sombrero, she hurried back to the side