ack again."

His remark brought to Lucy the idea that of course she would hardly see
this rider again after to-day. Even if he went to the Ford, which event
was unlikely, he would not remain there long. The sensation of
blankness puzzled her, and she felt an unfamiliar confusion.

"I--I've brought you--some things," she said, pointing to the larger
pack.

"Grub, you mean?"

"No."

"That was all I asked you for, miss," he said, somewhat stiffly.

"Yes, but--I--I thought--" Lucy became unaccountably embarrassed.
Suppose this strange rider would be offended. "Your clothes were--so
torn.... And no wonder you were thrown--in those boots! ... So I
thought I'd--"

"You thought I needed clothes as bad as grub," he said, bitterly. "I
reckon that's so."

His look, more than his tone, cut Lucy; and involuntarily she touched
his arm. "Oh, you won't refuse to take them! Please don't!"

At her touch a warmth came into his face. "Take them? I should smile I
will."

He tried to reach down to lift the pack, but as it was obviously
painful for him to bend, Lucy intercepted him.

"But you've had no breakfast," she protested. "Why not eat before you
open that pack?"

"Nope. I'm not hungry.... Maybe I'll eat a little, after I dress up."
He started to walk away, then turned. "Miss Bostil, have you been so
good to every wanderin' rider you happened to run across?"

"Good!" she exclaimed, flushing. She dropped her eyes before his.
"Nonsense. ... Anyway, you're the first wandering rider I ever
met--like this."

"Well, you're good," he replied, with emotion. Then he walked away with
slow, stiff steps and disappeared behind the willows in the little
hollow.

Lucy uncoiled the rope on her saddle and haltered Sage King on the best
grass near at hand. Then she opened the pack of supplies, thinking the
while that she must not tarry here long.

"But on the King I can run back like the wind," she mused.

The pack contained dried fruits and meat and staples, also an
assortment of good things to eat that were of a perishable nature,
already much the worse for the long ride. She spread all this out in
the shade of a cedar. The utensils were few--two cups, two pans, and a
tiny pot. She gathered wood, and arranged it for a fire, so that the
rider could start as soon as he came back. He seemed long in coming.
Lucy waited, yet still he did not return. Finally she thought of the
red stallion, and started off down the wash to take a look