She assented, and they dismounted.  The man cut an opening into a clump of thick growth with his knife, and there they fastened the weary horses, well hidden from sight if any one chanced that way.  The girl lay down a few feet away in a spot almost entirely surrounded by sage-brush which had reached an unusual height and made a fine hiding-place.  Just outside the entrance of this natural chamber the man lay down on a fragrant bed of sage-brush.  He had gathered enough for the girl first, and spread out the old coat over it; and she had dropped asleep almost as soon as she lay down.  But, although his own bed of sage-brush was tolerably comfortable, even to one accustomed all his life to the finest springs and hair mattress that money could buy, and although the girl had insisted that he must rest too, for he was weary and there was no need to watch, sleep would not come to his eyelids.

He lay there resting and thinking.  How strange was the experience through which he was passing!  Came ever a wealthy, college-bred, society man into the like before?  What did it all mean?  His being lost, his wandering for a day, the sight of this girl and his pursuit, the prayer under the open sky, and that night of splendor under the moonlight riding side by side.  It was like some marvellous tale.

And this girl!  Where was she going?  What was to become of her?  Out in the world where he came from, were they ever to reach it, she would be nothing.  Her station in life was beneath his so far that the only recognition she could have would be one which would degrade her.  This solitary journey they were taking, how the world would lift up its hands in horror at it!  A girl without a chaperon!  She was impossible!  And yet it all seemed right and good, and the girl was evidently recognized by the angels; else how had she escaped from degradation thus far?

Ah!  How did he know she had?  But he smiled at that.  No one could look into that pure, sweet face, and doubt that she was as good as she was beautiful.  If it was not so, he hoped he would never find it out.  She seemed to him a woman yet unspoiled, and he shrank from the thought of what the world might do for her—­the world and its cultivation, which would not be for her, because she was friendless and without money or home.  The world would have nothing but toil to give her, with a meagre living.

Where was she going, and what was she proposing to do?  Must he not try to help her in some way?  Did not the fact that she had saved his life demand so much from him?  If he had not found her, he must surely have starved before he got out of this wild place.  Even yet starvation was not an impossibility; for they had not reached any signs of habitation yet, and there was but one more portion of corn-meal and a little coffee left.  They had but two matches now, and there had been no more flights of birds, nor brooks with fishes.

In fact, the man found a great deal to worry about as he lay there, too weary with the unaccustomed exercise and experiences to sleep.