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Lucy looked closely at him. He was indeed a
beggared rider. His clothes and his boots hung in tatters. He had no hat, no
coat, no vest. His gaunt face bore traces of what might have been a fine,
strong comeliness, but now it was only thin, worn, wan, pitiful, with that
look which always went to a woman's heart. He had the look of a homeless
rider. Lucy had seen a few of his wandering type, and his story was so plain.
But he seemed to have a touch of pride, and this quickened her interest.
"Then I'll do what I think best for you," said Lucy.
First she unsaddled the black Nagger. With the saddle she made a pillow for
the rider's head, and she covered him with the saddle blanket. Before she had
finished this task he turned his eyes upon her. And Lucy felt she would be
haunted. Was he badly hurt, after all? It seemed probable. How strange he was!
"I'll water the horses--then tie Wildfire here on a double rope. There's
grass."
"But you can't lead him," replied the rider.
"He'll follow me."
"That red devil!" The rider shuddered as he spoke.


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