nst her
horse's reeking, heaving shoulders.

"I've got to go on, dear," she whispered; "I'll try to come back to
you.... See what a pretty stream this is," she added, half hysterically,
"and such lots of fresh, sweet grass.... Oh, my little horse--my little
horse! I'm so tired--so tired!"

The horse turned his gentle head, mumbling her shoulder with soft, dusty
lips; she stifled a sob, lifted saddle, saddlebags, and bridle and
carried them up the rocky bank of the stream to a little hollow. Here
she dropped them, unstrapped her revolver and placed it with them, then
drew from the saddlebags a homespun gown, sunbonnet, and a pair of
coarse shoes, and laid them out on the moss.

Fatigue rendered her limbs unsteady; her fingers twitched as she fumbled
with button and buckle, but at last spurred boots, stockings, jacket,
and dusty riding skirt fell from her; undergarments dropped in a circle
around her bare feet; she stepped out of them, paused to twist up her
dark hair tightly, then, crossing the moss to the stream's edge, picked
her way out among the boulders to the brimming rim of a pool.

In the exquisite shock of the water the blood whipped her skin; fatigue
vanished through the crystal magic; shoulder-deep she waded,
crimson-cheeked, then let herself drift, afloat, stretching out in
ecstasy until every aching muscle thrilled with the delicious reaction.

Overhead, tree swallows darted through a sky of pink and saffron,
pulsating with the promise of the sun; the tinted peak of a mountain,
jaggedly mirrored in the unquiet pool, suddenly glowed crimson, and the
reflections ran crisscross through the rocking water, lacing it with
fiery needles.

She looked like some delicate dawn-sprite as she waded ashore--a
slender, unreal shape in the rosy glow, while behind her, from the dim
ravine, ghosts of the mountain mist floated, rising like a company of
slim, white angels drifting to the sky.

All around her now the sweet, bewildered murmur of purple martins grew
into sustained melody; thrush and mocking bird, thrasher and cardinal,
sang from every leafy slope; and through the rushing music of bird and
pouring waterfall the fairy drumming of the cock-o'-the-pines rang out
in endless, elfin reveille.

While she was managing to dry herself and dress, her horse limped off
into the grassy swale below to drink in the stream and feed among the
tender grasses.

Before she drew on the homespun gown she tucked her linen map i