“Ah, but I do!” exclaimed the young man.  “A scorpion sting!  Let me see it!”

Rhoda flushed.

“Oh, never mind that!” she said.  “But if you will go to the Newman ranch-house for me and ask them to send the buckboard I’ll be very grateful.  I—­I feel dizzy, you know.”

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed the young man.  “There’s no time for me to run about the desert if you have a scorpion sting in your foot!”

“Is a scorpion sting dangerous?” asked Rhoda.  Then she added, languidly, “Not that I mind if it is!”

The young man gave her a curious glance.  Then he pulled a small case from his pocket, knelt in the sand and lifted Rhoda’s foot in one slender, strong, brown hand.  The instep already was badly swollen.

“Hold tight a minute!” said the young man.

And before Rhoda could protest he had punctured the red center of the swelling with a little scalpel, had held the cut open and had filled it with a white powder that bit.  Then he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and tore it in two.  With one half he bound the ankle above the cut tightly.  With the other he bandaged the cut itself.

“Are you a doctor?” asked Rhoda faintly.

“Far from it,” replied the young man with a chuckle, tightening the upper bandage until Rhoda’s foot was numb.  “But I always carry this little outfit with me; rattlers and scorpions are so thick over on the ditch.  Somebody’s apt to be hurt anytime.  I’m Charley Cartwell, Jack Newman’s engineer.”

“Oh!” said Rhoda understandingly.  “I’m so dizzy I can’t see you very well.  This is very good of you.  Perhaps now you’d go on and get the buckboard.  Tell them it’s for Rhoda, Rhoda Tuttle.  I just went out for a walk and then—­”

Her voice trailed into nothingness and she could only steady her swaying body with both hands against the rock.

“Huh!” grunted young Cartwell.  “I go on to the house and leave you here in the boiling sun!”

“Would you mind hurrying?” asked Rhoda.

“Not at all,” returned Cartwell.

He plucked the stocking and slipper from the yucca and dropped them into his pocket.  Then he stooped and lifted Rhoda across his broad chest.  This roused her.

“Why, you can’t do this!” she cried, struggling to free herself.

Cartwell merely tightened his hold and swung out at a pace that was half run, half walk.

“Close your eyes so the sun won’t hurt them,” he said peremptorily.

Dizzily and confusedly, Rhoda dropped her head back on the broad shoulder and closed her eyes, with a feeling of security that later on was to appall her.  Long after she was to recall the confidence of this moment with unbelief and horror.  Nor did she dream how many weary days and hours she one day was to pass with this same brazen sky over her, this same broad shoulder under her head.

Cartwell looked down at the delicate face lying against his breast, at the soft yellow hair massed against his sleeve.  Into his black eyes came a look that was passionately tender, and the strong brown hand that supported Rhoda’s shoulders trembled.