t, after all, he was a child
still.

"Yes," he slowly said, looking after her as she went to bring his horse,
"the same child that wanted to touch the moon, I guess." And during the
slow climb down into the saddle from a rock to which she helped him he
said, "You have got to be the man all through this mess."

She saw his teeth clinched and his drooping muscles compelled by will;
and as he rode and she walked to lend him support, leading her horse
by a backward-stretched left hand, she counted off the distance to him
continually--the increasing gain, the lessening road, the landmarks
nearing and dropping behind; here was the tree with the wasp-nest gone;
now the burned cabin was passed; now the cottonwoods at the ford were in
sight. He was silent, and held to the saddle-horn, leaning more and more
against his two hands clasped over it; and just after they had made the
crossing he fell, without a sound slipping to the grass, and his descent
broken by her. But it started the blood a little, and she dared not
leave him to seek help. She gave him the last of the flask and all the
water he craved.

Revived, he managed to smile. "Yu' see, I ain't worth keeping."

"It's only a mile," said she. So she found a log, a fallen trunk, and he
crawled to that, and from there crawled to his saddle, and she marched
on with him, talking, bidding him note the steps accomplished. For the
next half-mile they went thus, the silent man clinched on the horse, and
by his side the girl walking and cheering him forward, when suddenly he
began to speak:-- "I will say good-by to you now, ma'am."

She did not understand, at first, the significance of this.

"He is getting away," pursued the Virginian. "I must ask you to excuse
me, ma'am."

It was a long while since her lord had addressed her as "ma'am." As she
looked at him in growing apprehension, he turned Monte and would have
ridden away, but she caught the bridle.

"You must take me home," said she, with ready inspiration. "I am afraid
of the Indians."

"Why, you--why, they've all gone. There he goes. Ma'am--that hawss--"

"No," said she, holding firmly his rein and quickening her step. "A
gentleman does not invite a lady to go out riding and leave her."

His eyes lost their purpose. "I'll cert'nly take you home. That sorrel
has gone in there by the wallow, and Judge Henry will understand." With
his eyes watching imaginary objects, he rode and rambled and it was now
the girl who was