y, confessed at last to herself, ever since
the moment he had appeared in the desert to save her.

If a certain reckless abandon to this love rocked her splendid
self-control, it was only because she was so utterly exhausted. Her
judgment was sound, unshaken. Nevertheless, despite judgment and
all--to go on was out of the question. God had flung them out here
together, she thought, for better or for worse. That Van would be the
fine chivalrous gentleman she had felt him to be at the very first
moment of their accidental acquaintance, she felt absolutely assured.
She accepted a certain inevitable fatality in the situation---perhaps
the more readily now that she knew he knew, for she seemed so much more
secure.

His question remained unanswered while she thought of a thousand
things. Could she try to go on?

She shook her head. "What's the use of my riding--perhaps another
mile? You might go on and send a man to guide me in the morning."

What an effort it cost her to make such a harsh suggestion not even Van
could know. A terrible fear possessed her that he might really act
upon her word. To have him stay was bad enough, but to have him go
would be terrible.

"Hell!" he said, keeping up his acting. "You talk like a woman.
Haven't I wasted time enough already without sending someone out here
to-morrow morning? What makes you think you're worth it?" He turned
his back upon her, hung the stirrup of the saddle on the horn, and
began to loosen the cinch.

Like the woman that she was, she enjoyed his roughness, his impudence,
and candor. It meant so much, in such a time as this. After a moment
she asked him:

"What do you mean to do?"

He hauled off the saddle and dropped it to the ground.

"Make up the berths," he answered. "Here's your bedding." He tossed
the blanket down at her feet. It was warm and moist from Suvy's body.
He then uncoiled his long lasso, secured an end around the pony's neck,
and bade him walk away and roll.

The broncho obeyed willingly, as if he understood. Van took up the
saddle, carried it off a bit, and dropped it as before.

Beth still remained there, with the blanket at her feet.

Van addressed her. "Got any matches?"

"No," she said. "I'm afraid----"

"Neither have I," he interrupted. "No fire in the dressing-room.
Good-night. No need to set the alarm clock. I'll wake you bright and
early." Once more he took up his saddle and started off in the
ankle-high