ound had been going up and down in waves before
the eyes of the boy. Now he clutched at a stirrup leather for support,
but his fingers could not seem to find it. Before he could steady himself
the bed of the dry creek rose up and hit him in the head.

Chapter IV

Pauline Roubideau Says "Thank You."

Jimmie Clanton slid back from unconsciousness to a world the center of
which was a girl sitting on a rock with his rifle across her knees. The
picture did not at first associate itself with any previous experience.
She was a brown, slim young thing in a calico print that fitted snugly
the soft lines of her immature figure. The boy watched her shyly and
wondered at the quiet self-reliance of her. She was keeping guard over
him, and there was about her a cool vigilance that went oddly with the
small, piquant face and the tumbled mass of curly chestnut hair that had
fallen in a cascade across her shoulders.

"Where are yore folks?" he asked presently.

She turned her head slowly and looked at him. Southern suns had sprinkled
beneath her eyes a myriad of powdered freckles. She met his gaze
fairly, with a boyish directness and candor.

"Jean has ridden out to tell your friends about you and Mr. Prince.
Father has gone back to the house to fix up a travois to carry you."

"Sho! I can ride."

"There's no need of it. You must have lost a great deal of blood."

He looked down at his foot and saw that the boot had been cut away. A
bandage of calico had been tied around the wound. He guessed that the
girl had sacrificed part of a skirt.

"And you stayed here to see the 'Paches didn't play with me whilst yore
father was gone," he told her.

"There wasn't any danger, of course. The only one that escaped is miles
away from here. But we didn't like to leave you alone."

"That's right good of you."

Her soft, brown eyes met his again. They poured upon him the gift of
passionate gratitude she could not put into words. It was from something
much more horrible than death that he had snatched her. One moment she
had been a creature crushed, leaden despair in her heart. Then the
miracle had flashed down from the sky. She was free, astride the pinto,
galloping for home.

"Yes, you owe us much." There was a note of light sarcasm in her clear,
young voice, but the feeling in her heart swept it away in an emotional
rush of words from the tongue of her father. "Vous avez pris le fait et
cause pour moi. Sans vous j'etais perdu