“Our stable chamberlain has slipped a cog on the outfits for ladies recently,” said Van apologetically, “but I reckon these will have to do.”

Beth looked the two mounts over uncritically.  They seemed to be equally matched, as to general characteristics, since neither appeared either strong or plump.  She said: 

“Shall we ride very far?”

“No, just a pleasant little jog,” replied the horseman.  “They call it forty miles to Goldite by the ridge, but it isn’t an inch over thirty.”

Thirty miles!—­over the mountains!—­with an unknown man and her maid!  Beth suppressed a gasp of despair and astonishment, not to mention trepidation, by making an effort that verged upon the heroic.

“But we—­we can never arrive in Goldite tonight!” she said.  “We can’t expect to, can we?”

“It takes more than that to kill these bronchos,” Van cheerfully assured her.  “I can only guarantee that the horses will make it—­by sunset.”

Beth flushed.  He evidently entertained a very poor notion of her horsemanship.  Her pride was aroused.  She would show him something—­at least that no horse could make this journey without her!

“Thank you,” she said, and advancing to the roan she addressed herself to Dave.  “Will you please help me up.  Mr. Van may assist my maid.”

Dave grinned and performed his offices as best he could, which was strongly, if not with grace.  Van shook a threatening fist, behind his captive’s back.  He had meant to take this honor to himself.

Fairly tossing the greatly delighted little Elsa to the seat on the bay, he mounted his own sturdy animal and immediately started for the canyon below, leaving Beth and her maid to trail behind.

The girl’s heart all but failed her.  Whither were they going?—­and towards what Fate?  What could be the outcome of a journey like this, undertaken so blindly, with no chance for resistance?  The horseman had stubbornly refused a reply to her question; he was calmly riding off before them now with the utmost indifference to her comfort.  There was nothing to do but to follow, and resign herself to—­the Lord alone knew what.  The little roan mare, indeed, required no urging; she was tugging at the bit to be off.  With one last look of helplessness at the station and Dave—­who someway bore the hint of a fatherly air upon him—­she charged her nerves with all possible resolution and rode on after her leader.

Elsa permitted her broncho to trudge at the tail of the column.  She dared to cast one shy, disconcerting little glance at Dave—­and he suddenly felt he would burst into flame and consume himself utterly to ashes.