mbling.

Too late the driver saw his error. As the left horse sank he threw his
weight on the right rein as though to remedy the accident. This movement
threw him off his balance, and he slipped off the seat, clawing and
scrambling; at the instant the front of the buckboard dipped and sank,
disappearing with a splash into the muddy water. It had gone down awry,
the girl's side high out of the water, the girl herself clinging to the
edge of the seat, out of the water's reach, the elderly couple in the
rear also safe and dry, but plainly frightened.

The girl did not scream; the rider on the mesa noted this with
satisfaction. She was talking, though, to the driver, who at first had
disappeared, only to reappear an instant later, blowing and cursing, his
head and shoulders out of the water, his ridiculous hat floating serenely
down stream, the reins still in his hands.

"I reckon he's discovered that Vickers told him to swing to the right,"
grinned the rider from his elevation. He watched the driver until he
gained the bank and stood there, dripping, gesticulating, impotent rage
consuming him. The buckboard could not be moved without endangering the
comfort of the remaining occupants, and without assistance they must
inevitably stay where they were. And so the rider on the mesa wheeled his
pony and sent it toward the edge of the mesa where a gentle slope swept
downward to the plains.

"I reckon I've sure got to rescue her," he said, grinning with some
embarrassment, "though I'm mighty sorry that Willard had to get his new
clothes wet."

He spoke coaxingly to the pony; it stepped gingerly over the edge of the
mesa and began the descent, sending stones and sand helter-skelter before
it, the rider sitting tall and loose in the saddle, the reins hanging, he
trusting entirely to the pony's wisdom.

CHAPTER II

THE SYMPATHETIC RESCUER

Halfway down the slope, the rider turned and saw that Willard and the
occupants of the buckboard were watching him. The color in his cheeks
grew deeper and his embarrassment increased, for he noted that the girl
had faced squarely around toward him, had forgotten her precarious
position; her hands were clasped as though she were praying for his
safety. The aunt and uncle, too, were twisted in their seat, leaning
toward him in rigid attitudes, and Willard, safe on his bank, was
standing with clenched hands.

"Do you reckon w