There were many sharp turns and temper-trying windings, and though it narrowed in many places so that there was barely room for them to pass, it never grew shallower; indeed, it grew always deeper; and then, without any warning, it stopped abruptly upon a coulee’s rim, with jumbled rocks and between them a sheer descent to the slope below.  Ford guessed then that he was boxed up in one of the main waterways of the foot-hills he had been skirting for the past hour or so, and that he should have ridden up the gulch instead of down it.

He turned, though the place was so narrow that Rambler’s four feet almost touched one another and his rump scraped the bank, as Ford pulled him round, and retraced his steps.  It was too rough for riding, even if he had not wanted to save the horse, and he had no idea how far he must go before he could get out.  Ford, at that time, was not particularly cheerful.

He must have gone a mile and more before he reached the point where, by hard scrambling, he attained level ground upon the same side as the girl.  Ten minutes he spent in urging Rambler up the bank, and when the horse stood breathing heavily beside him, Ford knew that, for all the good there was in him at present, he might as well have left him at the bottom.  He walked around him, rubbing leg and shoulder muscles until he located the hurt, and shook his head when all was done.  Then he started on slowly, with Rambler hobbling painfully after him.  Ford knew that every rod would aggravate that strained shoulder and that a stop would probably make it impossible for the horse to go on at all.

He was not quite sure, after all those windings where he could not see, just where it was he had seen the girl, but he recognized at last the undulating outline of the ridge over which she had appeared, and made what haste he could up the slope.  The grazing horse was no longer in sight, though he knew it might be feeding in a hollow near by.

He had almost given up hope of finding her, when he turned his head and saw her off to one side, lying half concealed by a clump of low rose bushes.  She was not unconscious, as he had thought, but was crying silently, with her face upon her folded arms and her hat askew over one ear.  He stooped and touched her upon the shoulder.

She lifted her head and looked at him, and drew away with a faint, withdrawing gesture, which was very slight in itself but none the less eloquent and unmistakable.  Ford backed a step when he saw it and closed his lips without speaking the words he had meant to say.

[Illustration:  She lifted her head and looked at him, and drew away.]

“Well, what do you want?” the girl asked ungraciously, after a minute spent in fumbling unseen hairpins and in straightening her hat.  “I don’t know why you’re standing there like that, staring at me.  I don’t need any help.”

“Appearances are deceitful, then,” Ford retorted.  “I saw you limping over the hill, after your horse, and I saw you fall down and stay down.  I had an idea that a little help would be acceptable, but of course—­”