Ever since Lucy had reached her teens there had been predictions that she would be kidnapped, and now the thing had come to pass.  She was in danger, she knew, but in infinitely less than had any other wild character of the uplands been her captor.  She believed, if she went quietly and obediently with Creech, that she would be, at least, safe from harm.  It was hard luck for Bostil, she thought, but no worse than he deserved.  Retribution had overtaken him.  How terribly hard he would take the loss of his horses!  Lucy wondered if he really ever would part with the King, even to save her from privation and peril.  Bostil was more likely to trail her with his riders and to kill the Creeches than to concede their demands.  Perhaps, though, that threat to sell her to Cordts would frighten the hard old man.

The horses trotted and swung up over the slope, turning gradually, evidently to make a wide detour round the Ford, until Lucy’s back was toward the monuments.  Before her stretched the bleak, barren, dark desert, and through the opaque gloom she could see nothing.  Lucy knew she was headed for the north, toward the wild canyons, unknown to the riders.  Cordts and his gang hid in there.  What might not happen if the Creeches fell in with Cordts?  Lucy’s confidence sustained a check.  Still, she remembered the Creeches were like Indians.  And what would Slone do?  He would ride out on her trail.  Lucy shivered for the Creeches if Slone ever caught up with them, and remembering his wild-horse-hunter’s skill at tracking, and the fleet and tireless Wildfire, she grew convinced that Creech could not long hold her captive.  For Slone would be wary.  He would give no sign of his pursuit.  He would steal upon the Creeches in the dark and—­ Lucy shivered again.  What an awful fate had been that of Dick Sears!

So as she rode on Lucy’s mind was full.  She was used to riding, and in the motion of a horse there was something in harmony with her blood.  Even now, with worry and dread and plotting strong upon her, habit had such power over her that riding made the hours fleet.  She was surprised to be halted, to see dimly low, dark mounds of rock ahead.

“Git off,” said Creech.

“Where are we?” asked Lucy.

“Reckon hyar’s the rocks.  An’ you sleep some, fer you’ll need it.”  He spread a blanket, laid her saddle at the head of it, and dropped another blanket.  “What I want to know is—­shall I tie you up or not?” asked Creech.  “If I do you’ll git sore.  An’ this’ll be the toughest trip you ever made.”

“You mean will I try to get away from you—­or not?” queried Lucy.

“Jest thet.”

Lucy pondered.  She divined some fineness of feeling in this coarse man.  He wanted to spare her not only pain, but the necessity of watchful eyes on her every moment.  Lucy did not like to promise not to try to escape, if opportunity presented.  Still, she reasoned, that once deep in the canyons, where she would be in another day, she would be worse off if she did get away.  The memory of Cordts’s cavernous, hungry eyes upon her was not a small factor in Lucy’s decision.