"If he goes around he'll be longer."

"Why--but----" she gasped, "there is nothing to eat--no water--there
isn't anything on the desert, is there?--anywhere?"

He was looking intently into the deep brown depths of her eyes as he
answered:

"There's so little to eat that the chipmunks have to fetch in their
lunches."

Beth continued to gaze upon him. If she noted the lights of laughter
lying soberly subdued in his eyes, she also discerned something more,
that affected her oddly. Despite the horseman's treatment of her
escort--a treatment she confessed he had partially deserved--and despite
the lightness of his speeches, she felt certain of the depth of his
nature, convinced of the genuine earnestness of his purposes--the honesty
and worth of his friendship.

She knew she was tremendously indebted for all he had done and was doing,
but aside from all that, in her heart of hearts she admired bravery,
courage, and a dash of boldness more than anything else in the world.
She was not yet certain, however, whether the man at her side was brave
or merely reckless, courageous, or indifferent to danger, bold or merely
audacious. She knew nothing about him whatsoever, nothing except he must
be tired, lame, and bruised from exertions undertaken in her behalf. It
had been a long, long day. She felt as if they had known each other
always--and had always been friends.

Her mind went back to the morning as if to an era of the past. The