ich and clear, there it came
again! A voice in the wilderness calling her name: "Margaret! Margaret!"

The tears rushed to her eyes and crowded in her throat. She could not
answer, she was so overwhelmed; and though she tried twice to call out,
she could make no sound. But the call kept coming again and again:
"Margaret! Margaret!" and it was Gardley's voice. Impossible! For
Gardley was far away and could not know her need. Yet it was his voice.
Had she died, or was she in delirium that she seemed to hear him calling
her name?

But the call came clearer now: "Margaret! Margaret! I am coming!" and
like a flash her mind went back to the first night in Arizona when she
heard him singing, "From the Desert I Come to Thee!"

Now she struggled to her feet again and shouted, inarticulately and
gladly through her tears. She could see him. It was Gardley. He was
riding fast toward her, and he shot three shots into the air above him
as he rode, and three shrill blasts of his whistle rang out on the still
evening air.

She tore the scarf from her neck that she had tied about it to keep the
sun from blistering her, and waved it wildly in the air now, shouting in
happy, choking sobs.

And so he came to her across the desert!

He sprang down before the horse had fairly reached her side, and,
rushing to her, took her in his arms.

"Margaret! My darling! I have found you at last!"

She swayed and would have fallen but for his arms, and then he saw her
white face and knew she must be suffering.

"You are hurt!" he cried. "Oh, what have they done to you?" And he laid
her gently down upon the sand and dropped on his knees beside her.

"Oh no," she gasped, joyously, with white lips. "I'm all right now.
Only my ankle hurts a little. We had a fall, the horse and I. Oh, go to
him at once and put him out of his pain. I'm sure his legs are broken."

For answer Gardley put the whistle to his lips and blew a blast. He
would not leave her for an instant. He was not sure yet that she was not
more hurt than she had said. He set about discovering at once, for he
had brought with him supplies for all emergencies.

It was Bud who came riding madly across the mesa in answer to the call,
reaching Gardley before any one else. Bud with his eyes shining, his
cheeks blazing with excitement, his hair wildly flying in the breeze,
his young, boyish face suddenly grown old with lines of anxiety. But you
wouldn't have known from his greeting that it