“My God—­it’s strange,” almost moaned Philip.  “Billinger—­you understand—­she’s going to be my wife—­if she lives—­”

That was all of the story he told, but Billinger knew what those few words meant.

“She’s going to live,” he said.  “See—­there’s color coming back into her face—­she’s breathing.”  He bathed her face in water, and placed the canteen to her lips.

A moment later Philip bent down and kissed her.  “Isobel—­my sweetheart—­” he whispered.

“We must hurry with her to the water hole,” said Billinger, laying a sympathetic hand on Philip’s shoulder.  “It’s the sun.  Thank God, nothing has happened to her, Steele.  It’s the sun—­this terrible heat—­”

He almost pulled Philip to his feet, and when he had mounted Billinger lifted the girl very gently and gave her to him.

Then, with the agent leading in the trail of the outlaws, they set off at a walk through the sickening sun-glare for the water hole in the edge of the Bad Lands.

Chapter XVIII.  The Battle In The Canyon

Hunched over, with Isobel’s head sheltered against his breast, Philip rode a dozen paces behind the agent.  It seemed as if the sun had suddenly burst in molten fire upon the back of his neck, and for a time it made him dizzy.  His bridle reins hung loosely over the pommel.  He made no effort to guide his horse, which followed after Billinger’s.  It was Billinger who brought him back to himself.  The agent waited for them, and when he swung over in one stirrup to look at the girl it was the animal ferocity in his face, and not his words, that aroused Philip.

“She’s coming to,” he said, straining to keep the tremble out of his voice.  “I don’t believe she’s much hurt.  You take this canteen.  I’m going ahead.”

He gave Philip the water and leaned over again to gaze into the girl’s face.

“I don’t believe she’s much hurt,” he repeated in a hoarse, dry whisper.  “You can leave her at the water hole just beyond that hill off there—­and then you can follow me.”

Philip clutched the girl tighter to him as the agent rode off.  He saw the first faint flush returning into her cheeks, the reddening of her lips, the gentle tremor of her silken lashes, and forgetful of all else but her, he moaned her name, cried out his love for her, again and again, even as her eyes opened and she stared up into the face of the man who had come to her first at Lac Bain, and who had fought for her there.  For a breath or two the wonder of this thing that was happening held her speechless and still lifeless, though her senses were adjusting themselves with lightning swiftness.  At first Philip had not seen her open eyes, and he believed that she did not hear the words of love he whispered in her hair.  When he raised her face a little from his breast she was looking at him with all the sweet sanity in the world.