Her left ankle seemed broken.  The stirrup was heavy, and as soon as she was tired she could no longer keep its weight from drawing her foot in.  The inside of her right knee was as sore as a boil.  Besides, she had other pains, just as severe, and she stood momentarily in mortal dread of that terrible stitch in her side.  If it returned she knew she would fall off.  But, fortunately, just when she was growing weak and dizzy, the horses ahead slowed to a walk on a descent.  The road wound down into a wide deep canyon.  Carley had a respite from her severest pains.  Never before had she known what it meant to be so grateful for relief from anything.

The afternoon grew far advanced and the sunset was hazily shrouded in gray.  Hutter did not like the looks of those clouds.  “Reckon we’re in for weather,” he said.  Carley did not care what happened.  Weather or anything else that might make it possible to get off her horse!  Glenn rode beside her, inquiring solicitously as to her pleasure.  “Ride of my life!” she lied heroically.  And it helped some to see that she both fooled and pleased him.

Beyond the canyon the cedared desert heaved higher and changed its aspect.  The trees grew larger, bushier, greener, and closer together, with patches of bleached grass between, and russet-lichened rocks everywhere.  Small cactus plants bristled sparsely in open places; and here and there bright red flowers—­Indian paintbrush, Flo called them—­added a touch of color to the gray.  Glenn pointed to where dark banks of cloud had massed around the mountain peaks.  The scene to the west was somber and compelling.

At last the men and the pack-horses ahead came to a halt in a level green forestland with no high trees.  Far ahead a chain of soft gray round hills led up to the dark heaved mass of mountains.  Carley saw the gleam of water through the trees.  Probably her mustang saw or scented it, because he started to trot.  Carley had reached a limit of strength, endurance, and patience.  She hauled him up short.  When Spillbeans evinced a stubborn intention to go on Carley gave him a kick.  Then it happened.

She felt the reins jerked out of her hands and the saddle propel her upward.  When she descended it was to meet that before-experienced jolt.

“Look!” cried Flo.  “That bronc is going to pitch.”

“Hold on, Carley!” yelled Glenn.

Desperately Carley essayed to do just that.  But Spillbeans jolted her out of the saddle.  She came down on his rump and began to slide back and down.  Frightened and furious, Carley tried to hang to the saddle with her hands and to squeeze the mustang with her knees.  But another jolt broke her hold, and then, helpless and bewildered, with her heart in her throat and a terrible sensation of weakness, she slid back at each upheave of the muscular rump until she slid off and to the ground in a heap.  Whereupon Spillbeans trotted off toward the water.