The girl looked startled, while a slow color mounted into her cheeks.

“No,” said she gravely, thoughtfully.  “But—­he saved my life a little while ago.”

“Oh!” said the other, awestruck.  “My!  And ain’t he handsome?  How did he do it?”

But the girl could not talk about it.  She shuddered.

“It was a dreadful snake,” she said, “and I was—­I didn’t see it.  It was awful!  I can’t tell you about it.”

“My!” said the girl.  “How terrible!”

The people were passing out now.  The man was talking with the missionary, asking the road to somewhere.  The girl suddenly realized that this hour of preciousness was over, and life was to be faced again.  Those men, those terrible men!  She had recognized the others as having been among her brother’s funeral train.  Where were they, and why had they gone that way?  Were they on her track?  Had they any clue to her whereabouts?  Would they turn back pretty soon, and catch her when the people were gone home?

It appeared that the nearest town was Malta, sixteen miles away, down in the direction where the party of men had passed.  There were only four houses near the schoolhouse, and they were scattered in different directions along the stream in the valley.  The two stood still near the door after the congregation had scattered.  The girl suddenly shivered.  As she looked down the road, she seemed again to see the coarse face of the man she feared, and to hear his loud laughter and oaths.  What if he should come back again?  “I cannot go that way!” she said, pointing down the trail toward Malta.  “I would rather die with wild beasts.”

“No!” said the man with decision.  “On no account can we go that way.  Was that the man you ran away from?”

“Yes.”  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder over the way in which he had coupled his lot with hers.

“Poor little girl!” he said with deep feeling.  “You would be better off with the beasts.  Come, let us hurry away from here!”

They turned sharply away from the trail, and followed down behind a family who were almost out of sight around the hill.  There would be a chance of getting some provisions, the man thought.  The girl thought of nothing except to get away.  They rode hard, and soon came within hailing-distance of the people ahead of them, and asked a few questions.

No, there were no houses to the north until you were over the Canadian line, and the trail was hard to follow.  Few people went that way.  Most went down to Malta.  Why didn’t they go to Malta?  There was a road there, and stores.  It was by all means the best way.  Yes, there was another house about twenty miles away on this trail.  It was a large ranch, and was near to another town that had a railroad.  The people seldom came this way, as there were other places more accessible to them.  The trail was little used, and might be hard to find in some places; but, if they kept the Cottonwood Creek in sight, and followed on to the end of the valley, and then crossed the bench to the right, they would be in sight of it, and couldn’t miss it.  It was a good twenty miles beyond their house; but, if the travellers didn’t miss the way, they might reach it before dark.  Yes, the people could supply a few provisions at their house if the strangers didn’t mind taking what was at hand.