john brownleigh reached the water-hole at sunset, and while he waited for his horse to drink he meditated on what he would do next. if he intended to go to the fort for dinner he should turn at once sharply to the right and ride hard, unless he was willing to be late. the lady at the fort liked to have her guests on hand promptly, he knew.

the sun was down. it had left long splashes of crimson and gold in the west, and their reflection was shimmering over the muddy water below him so that billy looked as if he quaffed the richest wine from a golden cup, as he satisfied his thirst contentedly.

but as the missionary watched the painted water and tried to decide his course, suddenly his eye caught a bit of white something floating, half clinging to a twig at the edge of the water, a bit of thin transparentness, with delicate lacy edge. it startled him in that desert place much as the jewel in its golden setting in the sand had startled him that morning.

with an exclamation of surprise he stooped over, picked up the little wet handkerchief and held it out—dainty, white and fine, and in spite of its wet condition sending forth its violet breath to the senses of a man who had been in the wilds of the desert for three years. it spoke of refinement and culture and a world he had left behind him in the east.

there was a tiny letter embroidered in the corner, but already the light was growing too dim to read it, and though he held it up and looked through it and felt the embroidery with his finger-tip he could not be sure that it was either of the letters that had been engraved on the whip.

nevertheless, the little white messenger determined his course. he searched the edge of the water-hole for hoof prints as well as the dying light would reveal, then mounted billy with decision at once and took up his quest where he had almost abandoned it. he was convinced that a lady was out alone in the desert somewhere.

it was long past midnight when billy and the missionary came upon the pony, high on the mesa, grazing. the animal had evidently felt the need for food and rest before proceeding further, and was perhaps a little uneasy about that huddled form in the darkness he had left.

billy and the pony were soon hobbled and left to feed together while the missionary, all thought of his own need of rest forgotten, began a systematic search for the missing rider. he first carefully examined the pony and saddle. the saddle somehow reminded him of shag bunce, but the pony was a stranger to him; neither could he make out the letter of the brand in the pale moonlight. however, it might be a new animal, just purchased and not yet branded—or there might be a thousand explanations. the thought of shag bunce reminded him of the handsome private car he had seen upon the track that morning. but even if a party had gone out to ride how would one of them get separated? surely no lady would venture over the desert alone, not a stranger at any rate.

still in the silver and black of the shadowed night he searched on, and not until the rosy light of dawning began to flush and grow in the east did he come to stand at the top of the canyon where he could look down and see the girl, her green riding habit blending darkly with the dark forms of the trees still in shadow, the gold of her hair glinted with the early light, and her white, white face turned upward.

he lost no time in climbing down to her side, dreading what he might find. was she dead? what had happened to her? it was a perilous spot where she lay, and the dangers that might have harmed her had been many. the sky grew pink, and tinted all the clouds with rose as he knelt beside the still form.

a moment served to convince him that she was still alive; even in the half darkness he could see the drawn, weary look of her face. poor child! poor little girl, lost on the desert! he was glad, glad he had come to find her.

he gathered her in his strong arms and bore her upward to the light.

laying her in a sheltered spot he quickly brought water, bathed her face and forced a stimulant between the white lips. he chafed her cold little hands, blistered with the bridle, gave her more stimulant, and was rewarded by seeing a faint colour steal into the lips and cheeks. finally the white lids fluttered open for a second and gave him a glimpse of great dark eyes in which was still mirrored the horror and fright of the night.

he gave her another draught, and hastened to prepare a more comfortable resting place, bringing the canvas from billy's pack, and one or two other little articles that might make for comfort, among them a small hot water bottle. when he had her settled on the canvas with sweet ferns and grass underneath for a pillow and his own blanket spread over her he set about gathering wood for a fire, and soon he had water boiling in his tin cup, enough to fill the rubber bottle. when he put it in her cold hands she opened her eyes again wonderingly. he smiled reassuringly and she nestled down contentedly with the comfort of the warmth. she was too weary to question or know aught save that relief from a terrible horror was come at last.

the next time he came to her it was with a cup of strong beef tea which he held to her lips and coaxed her to swallow. when it was finished she lay back and slept again with a long drawn trembling sigh that was almost like a sob, and the heart of the young man was shaken to its depths over the agony through which she must have passed. poor child, poor little child!

he busied himself with making their temporary camp as comfortable as possible, and looking after the needs of the horses, then coming back to his patient he stood looking down at her as she slept, wondering what he ought to do next.

they were a long distance from any human habitation. whatever made the pony take this lonely trail was a puzzle. it led to a distant indian settlement, and doubtless the animal was returning to his former master, but how had it come that the rider had not turned him back?

then he looked down at the frail girl asleep on the ground and grew grave as he thought of the perils through which she had passed alone and unguarded. the exquisite delicacy of her face touched him as the vision of an angelic being might have done, and for an instant he forgot everything in the wonder with which her beauty filled him; the lovely outline of the profile as it rested lightly against her raised arm, the fineness and length of her wealth of hair, like spun gold in the glint of the sunshine that was just peering over the rim of the mountain, the clearness of her skin, so white and different from the women in that region, the pitiful droop of the sweet lips showing utter exhaustion. his heart went out from him with longing to comfort her, guard her, and bring her back to happiness. a strange, joyful tenderness for her filled him as he looked, so that he could scarcely draw his gaze from her face. then all at once it came over him that she would not like a stranger thus to stand and gaze upon her helplessness, and with quick reverence he turned his eyes away towards the sky.

it was a peculiar morning, wonderfully beautiful. the clouds were tinted pink almost like a sunset and lasted so for over an hour, as if the dawn were coming gently that it might not waken her who slept.

brownleigh, with one more glance to see if his patient was comfortable, went softly away to gather wood, bring more water, and make various little preparations for a breakfast later when she should waken. in an hour he tiptoed back to see if all was going well, and stooping laid a practiced finger on the delicate wrist to note the flutter of her pulse. he could count it with care, feeble, as if the heart had been under heavy strain, but still growing steadier on the whole. she was doing well to sleep. it was better than any medicine he could administer.

meantime, he must keep a sharp lookout for travellers. they were quite off the trail here, and the trail was an old one anyway and almost disused. there was little likeli hood of many passers. it might be days before any one came that way. there was no human habitation within call, and he dared not leave his charge to go in search of help to carry her back to civilization again. he must just wait here till she was able to travel.

it occurred to him to wonder where she belonged and how she came to be thus alone, and whether it was not altogether probable that a party of searchers might be out soon with some kind of a conveyance to carry her home. he must keep a sharp lookout and signal any passing rider.

to this end he moved away from the sleeping girl as far as he dared leave her, and uttered a long, clear call occasionally, but no answer came.

he dared not use his rifle for signalling lest he run out of ammunition which he might need before he got back with his charge. however, he felt it wise to combine hunting with signalling, and when a rabbit hurried across his path not far away he shot it, and the sound echoed out in the clear morning, but no answering signal came.

after he had shot two rabbits and dressed them ready for dinner when his guest should wake, he replenished the fire, set the rabbits to roasting on a curious little device of his own, and lay down on the opposite side of the fire. he was weary beyond expression himself, but he never thought of it once. the excitement of the occasion kept him up. he lay still marvelling at the strangeness of his position, and wondering what would be revealed when the girl should wake. he almost dreaded to have her do so lest she should not be as perfect as she looked asleep. his heart was in a tumult of wonder over her, and of thankfulness that he had found her before some terrible fate had overtaken her.

as he lay there resting, filled with an exalted joy, his mind wandered to the longings of the day before, the little adobe home of his co-labourer which he had left, its homeyness and joy; his own loneliness and longing for companionship. then he looked shyly towards the tree shade where the glint of golden hair and the dark line of his blanket were all he could see of the girl he had found in the wilderness. what if his father had answered his prayer and sent her to him! what miracle of joy! a thrill of tenderness passed through him and he pressed his hands over his closed eyes in a kind of ecstasy.

what foolishness! dreams, of course! he tried to sober himself but he could not[73] keep from thinking how it would seem to have this lovely girl enthroned in his little shack, ready to share his joys and comfort his sorrows; to be beloved and guarded and tenderly cared for by him.

a stir of the old blanket and a softly drawn sigh brought this delicious reverie to a close, and himself to his feet flushing cold and hot at thought of facing her awake.

she had turned over towards him slightly, her cheeks flushed with sleep. one hand was thrown back over her head, and the sun caught and flashed the sparkle of jewels into his eyes, great glory-clear gems like drops of morning dew when the sun is new upon them, and the flash of the jewels told him once more what he had known before, that here was a daughter of another world than his. they seemed to hurt him as he looked, those costly gems, for they pierced to his heart and told him they were set on a wall of separation which might rise forever between her and himself.

then suddenly he came to himself and was the missionary again, with his senses all on the alert, and a keen realization that it was high noon and his patient was waking up. he must have slept himself although he thought he had been broad awake all the time. the hour had come for action and he must put aside the foolish thoughts that had crowded in when his weary brain was unable to cope with the cool facts of life. of course all this was stuff and nonsense that he had been dreaming. he must do his duty by this needy one now.

stepping softly he brought a cup of water that he had placed in the shade to keep cool, and stood beside the girl, speaking quietly, as though he had been her nurse for years.

"wouldn't you like a drink of water?" he asked.

the girl opened her eyes and looked up at him bewildered.

"oh, yes," she said eagerly, though her voice was very weak. "oh, yes,—i'm so thirsty.—i thought we never would get anywhere!"

she let him lift her head, and drank eagerly, then sank back exhausted and closed her eyes. he almost thought she was going to sleep again.

"wouldn't you like something to eat?" he asked. "dinner is almost ready. do you think you can sit up to eat or would you rather lie still?"

"dinner!" she said languidly; "but i thought it was night. did i dream it all, and how did i get here? i don't remember this place."

she looked around curiously and then closed her eyes as if the effort were almost too much.

"oh, i feel so queer and tired, as if i never wanted to move again," she murmured.

"don't move," he commanded. "wait until you've had something to eat. i'll bring it at once."

he brought a cup of steaming hot beef extract with little broken bits of biscuit from a small tin box in the pack, and fed it to her a spoonful at a time.

"who are you?" she asked as she swallowed the last spoonful, and opened her eyes, which had been closed most of the time, while he fed her, as if she were too tired to keep them open.

"oh, i'm just the missionary. brownleigh's my name. now don't talk until you've had the rest of your dinner. i'll bring it in a minute. i want to make you a cup of tea, but you see i have to wash this cup first. the supply of dishes is limited." his genial smile and hearty words reassured her and she smiled and submitted.

"a missionary!" she mused and opened her eyes furtively to watch him as he went about his task. a missionary! she had never seen a missionary before, to her knowledge. she had fancied them always quite a different species, plain old maids with hair tightly drawn behind their ears and a poke bonnet with little white lawn strings.

this was a man, young, strong, engaging, and handsome as a fine piece of bronze. the brown flannel shirt he wore fitted easily over well knit muscles and exactly matched the brown of the abundant wavy hair in which the morning sun was setting glints of gold as he knelt before the fire and deftly completed his cookery. his soft wide-brimmed felt hat pushed far back on the head, the corduroy trousers, leather chaps and belt with brace of pistols all fitted into the picture and made the girl feel that she had suddenly left the earth where she had heretofore lived and been dropped into an unknown land with a strong kind angel to look after her.

a missionary! then of course she needn't be afraid of him. as she studied his face she knew that she couldn't possibly have been afraid of that face anyway, unless, perhaps, she had ventured to disobey its owner's orders. he had a strong, firm chin, and his lips though kindly in their curve looked decided as though they were not to be trifled with. on the whole if this was a missionary then she must change her ideas of missionaries from this time forth.

she watched his light, free movements, now sitting back upon his heels to hold the cup of boiling water over the blaze by a curiously contrived handle, now rising and going to the saddle pack for some needed article. there was something graceful as well as powerful about his every motion. he gave one a sense of strength and almost infinite resource. then suddenly her imagination conjured there beside him the man from whom she had fled, and in the light of this fine face the other face darkened and weakened and she had a swift revelation of his true character, and wondered that she had never known before. a shudder passed over her, and a gray pallor came into her face at the memory. she felt a great distaste for thinking or the necessity for even living at that moment.

then at once he was beside her with a tin plate and the cup of steaming tea, and began to feed her, as if she had been a baby, roast rabbit and toasted corn bread. she ate unquestioningly, and drank her tea, finding all delicious after her long fast, and gaining new strength with every mouthful.

"how did i get here?" she asked suddenly, rising to one elbow and looking around. "i don't seem to remember a place like this."

"i found you hanging on a bush in the moonlight," he said gravely, "and brought you here."

hazel lay back and reflected on this. he had brought her here. then he must have carried her! well, his arms looked strong enough to lift a heavier person than herself—but he had brought her here!

a faint colour stole into her pale cheeks.

"thank you," she said at last. "i suppose i wasn't just able to come myself." there was a droll little pucker at the corner of her mouth.

"not exactly," he answered as he gathered up the dishes.

"i remember that crazy little steed of mine began to climb straight up the side of a terrible wall in the dark, and finally decided to wipe me off with a tree. that is the last i can recall. i felt myself slipping and couldn't hold on any longer. then it all got dark and i let go."

"where were you going?" asked the young man.

"going? i wasn't going anywhere," said the girl; "the pony was doing that. he was running away, i suppose. he ran miles and hours with me and i couldn't stop him. i lost hold on the bridle, you see, and he had ideas about what he wanted to do. i was almost frightened to death, and there wasn't a soul in sight all day. i never saw such an empty place in my life. it can't be this is still arizona, we came so far."

"when did you start?" the missionary questioned gravely.

"why, this morning,—that is—why, it must have been yesterday. i'm sure i don't know when. it was wednesday morning about eleven o'clock that we left the car on horseback to visit a mine papa had heard about. it seems about a year since we started."

"how many were in your party?" asked the young man.

"just papa and my brother, and mr. hamar, a friend of my father's," answered the girl, her cheeks reddening at the memory of the name.

"but was there no guide, no native with you at all?" there was anxiety in the young man's tone. he had visions of other lost people who would have to be looked after.

"oh, yes, there was the man my father had written to, who brought the horses, and two or three men with him, some of them indians, i think. his name was bunce, mr. bunce. he was a queer man with a lot of wild looking hair."

"shag bunce," said the missionary thoughtfully. "but if shag was along i cannot understand how you came to get so widely separated from your party. he rides the fastest horse in this region. no pony of his outfit, be he ever so fleet, could get far ahead of shag bunce. he would have caught you within a few minutes. what happened? was there an accident?"

he looked at her keenly, feeling sure there was some mystery behind her wanderings that he ought to unravel for the sake of the girl and her friends. hazel's cheeks grew rosy.

"why, nothing really happened," she said evasively. "mr. bunce was ahead with my father. in fact he was out of sight when my pony started to run. i was riding with mr. hamar, and as we didn't care anything about the mine we didn't hurry. before we realized it the others were far ahead over a hill or something, i forget what was ahead, only they couldn't be seen. then we—i—that is—well, i must have touched my pony pretty hard with my whip and he wheeled and started to run. i'm not sure but i touched mr. hamar's horse, too, and he was behaving badly. i really hadn't time to see. i don't know what became of mr. hamar. he isn't much of a horseman. i don't believe he had ever ridden before. he may have had some trouble with his horse. anyway before i knew it i was out of sight of everything but wide empty stretches with mountains and clouds at the end everywhere, and going on and on and not getting any nearer to any thing."

"this mr. hamar must have been a fool not to have given an alarm to your friends at once if he could do nothing himself," said brownleigh sternly. "i cannot understand how it could happen that no one found you sooner. it was the merest chance that i came upon your whip and other little things and so grew anxious lest some one was lost. it is very strange that no one found you before this. your father will have been very anxious."

hazel sat up with flaming cheeks and began to gather her hair in a knot. a sudden realization of her position had come upon her and given her strength.

"well, you see," she stumbled, trying to explain without telling anything, "mr. hamar might have thought i had gone back to the car, or he might have thought i would turn back in a few minutes. i do not think he would have wanted to follow me just then. i was—angry with him!"

the young missionary looked at the beautiful girl sitting upright on the canvas he had spread for her bed, trying vainly to reduce her bright hair to something like order, her cheeks glowing, her eyes shining now, half with anger, half with embarrassment, and for a second he pitied the one who had incurred her wrath. a strange unreasoning anger towards the unknown man took possession of him, and his face grew tender as he watched the girl.

"that was no excuse for letting you go alone into the perils of the desert," he said severely. "he could not have known. it was impossible that he could have understood or he would have risked his life to save you from what you have been through. no man could do otherwise!"

hazel looked up, surprised at the vehemence of the words, and again the contrast between the two men struck her forcibly.

"i am afraid," she murmured looking off towards the distant mountains thoughtfully, "that he isn't much of a man."

and somehow the young missionary was relieved to hear her say so. there was a moment's embarrassed silence and then brownleigh began to search in his pocket, as he saw the golden coil of hair beginning to slip loose from its knot again.

"will these help you any?" he asked handing out the comb and hairpins he had found, a sudden awkwardness coming upon him.

"oh, my own comb!" she exclaimed. "and hairpins! where did you find them? indeed they will help," and she seized upon them eagerly.

he turned away embarrassed, marvelling at the touch of her fingers as she took the bits of shell from his hand. no woman's hand like that had touched his own, even in greeting, since he bade good-bye to his invalid mother and came out to these wilds to do his work. it thrilled him to the very soul and he was minded of the sweet awe that had come upon him in his own cabin as he looked upon the little articles of woman's toilet lying upon his table as if they were at home. he could not understand his own mood. it seemed like weakness. he turned aside and frowned at himself for his foolish sentimentality towards a stranger whom he had found upon the desert. he laid it to the weariness of the long journey and the sleepless night.

"i found them in the sand. they showed me the way to find you," he said, trying vainly to speak in a commonplace tone. but somehow his voice seemed to take on a deep significance. he looked at her shyly, half fearing she must feel it, and then murmuring something about looking after the horses he hurried away.

when he came back she had mastered the rebellious hair, and it lay shining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head. she was standing now, having shaken down and smoothed out the rumpled riding habit, and had made herself look quite fresh and lovely in spite of the limited toilet conveniences.

he caught his breath as he saw her. the two regarded one another intensely for just an instant, each startlingly conscious of the other's personality, as men and women will sometimes get a glimpse beyond mere body and sight the soul. each was aware of a thrilling pleasure in the presence of the other. it was something new and wonderful that could not be expressed nor even put into thoughts as yet but something none the less real that flashed along their consciousness like the song of the native bird, the scent of the violet, the breath of the morning.

the instant of soul recognition passed and then each recovered self-possession, but it was the woman who spoke first.

"i feel very much more respectable," she laughed pleasantly. "where is my vicious little horse? isn't it time we were getting back?"

then a cloud of anxiety came over the brightness of the man's face.

"that is what i was coming to tell you," he said in a troubled tone. "the wicked little beast has eaten off his hobble and fled. there isn't a sight of him to be seen far or wide. he must have cleared out while we were at dinner, for he was munching grass peaceably enough before you woke up. it was careless of me not to make him more secure. the hobble was an old one and worn, but the best i had. i came back to tell you that i must ride after him at once. you won't be afraid to stay alone for a little while, will you? my horse has had a rest. i think i ought to be able to catch him."