He was grave for once.

“Men come and go in a mining town, where everyone’s unduly excited.  If he isn’t on deck, then have you no one else?  Have you any alternative plan?”

“Why, no,” she confessed, her alarm increasing, “not unless Mr. Bostwick has arrived and arranged our accommodations.”

“I wouldn’t count on Searle,” drawled Van significantly.  “He may have to walk.”

“Not across the awful desert?”

“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 thought of the convicts who had captured Bostwick aroused new apprehensions in her breast, though not for the man with the car.  Someway Searle seemed strangely far away and dimmed in her regard.  She was thinking of what she had overheard, back there at the Monte Cristo mine.

“This has been a trying day,” she said, apparently ignoring Van’s last observation.  “You have taken a great deal of trouble for—­for us—­and we appreciate it fully.”

Van said gravely:  “Taking trouble is the only fun I have.”

“You laugh at everything,” she answered, “but isn’t it really a serious thing—­a menace to everyone—­having those convicts out of prison?”

“It isn’t going to be a knitting-bee, rounding them up,” Van admitted.  “And meantime they’re going to be exacting of everyone they meet.”

She looked at him half seriously, but altogether brightly.

“And what if they chance to meet you?”

“Oh, we’d exchange courtesies, I reckon.”