“Why—­perhaps so,” she answered, attempting to smile.  “I’ll try.”

Something in her smile went straight to his heart—­he wondered why.  To feel as he did towards this unknown man, even the brother of the girl he madly loved—­this was certainly absurd.  It was not to be explained; it was simply upon him, that was enough.  He dismounted.

“Here, get on my horse and ride.  I want to walk and stretch my legs.”

Beth all but gasped.  She!—­ride on Suvy!—­the horse she had seen so nearly kill this man!—­a horse that might perhaps permit no other living thing upon his back!  Yet she knew not how to refuse—­and to walk very far would be impossible.

“I’m—­afraid I’m a very poor horseman,” she admitted guardedly.  “If your pony should happen——­”

Van had thought that Suvy might resent a stranger’s liberties.  He turned to the broncho peculiarly.

“How about it, boy?” he asked the horse gravely.  “I want you to stand for it, savvy?” He looked at the animal inquiringly.  How he knew that Suvy consented was only for him to comprehend.  He squared about to Beth, who was watching with wonder, and something far softer, in her heart.  “Get on,” he said.  “He was raised as a cradle for babies.”

Beth was pale, but she had to be a man.  She stepped to the broncho’s side and mounted to the saddle.  Suvy trembled in every sinew of his being.

Van gave him a pat on the neck again, turned his back and started straight northward.  The pony followed at his heels like a dog with a master he loves.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE NIGHT IN THE DESERT

At ten o’clock that night the moon had not yet risen.  Its glow was on the eastern sky, however, and at length it appeared, a broken orb with its waning side lopped from its bulk.

Beth was still in the saddle.  She was utterly exhausted; she could scarcely remain in her seat.  For more than an hour Van had plodded onward without even turning to speak.  They had talked intermittently, and he had told her his name.  Far off in the dimness of the desert level—­the floor of a second mighty valley—­a lone coyote began his dismal howling.  Beth, on the horse, felt a chill go down her spine.  Van seemed not to hear.  The howl was repeated from time to time intermittently, like the wail of a ghost, forever lost to hope.

When the moon at last shone fairly on the broncho and the girl, Van cast a glance at her face.  He was startled.  The young rider looked so much like Beth—­and looked so utterly tired!

Van halted, and so did the pony.  The man looked up at his companion.

“You’re in no fit condition to go on,” he said.  “What’s the use of our trying to make it?  To camp right here is as good as going on all night, which don’t suit my legs worth a cent.”

Beth was wearied almost to collapse.  But—­to camp out here—­all night!—­they two!  Aside from the terrors that had crept to her soul at sound of the distant coyote, this present aspect of the situation was appalling.  Indeed, she began to see that whether they went on or remained, she must spend the night in this man’s company.