ping 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
