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"Come on!" cried Lucy, daringly.
Then the rider and girl looked more earnestly at each other. He smiled in a
way that changed his face--brightened out the set hardness.
"I reckon I'll have to crawl," he said, ruefully. "But maybe I can ride in a
few days--if you'll come back again."
His remark brought to Lucy the idea that of course she would hardly see this
rider again after to-day. Even if he went to the Ford, which event was
unlikely, he would not remain there long. The sensation of blankness puzzled
her, and she felt an unfamiliar confusion.
"I--I've brought you--some things," she said, pointing to the larger pack.
"Grub, you mean?"
"No."
"That was all I asked you for, miss," he said, somewhat stiffly.
"Yes, but--I--I thought--" Lucy became unaccountably embarrassed. Suppose this
strange rider would be offended. "Your clothes were--so torn. . . . And no
wonder you were thrown--in those boots! . . . So I thought I'd--"
"You thought I needed clothes as bad as grub," he said, bitterly. "I reckon
that's so.


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