Then suddenly the sound of the animal moving away roused her. She must secure him or he might get away, leaving her helpless in this vast desolation.

She gathered her flagging energy and stood up, despite the pain in her feet. The horse was several yards from her, moving slowly as he ate. He lifted his head restlessly now and then to look off in the distance and take a few steps before stopping for another bite. He appeared to have something on his mind and was heading toward it, without a thought of her. She must look out for herself. She’d never had to do that before, but the instinct came with the need.

She stole toward him, plucking a handful of grass and holding it as she used to hold a lump of sugar or an apple for her finely groomed mare in New York. But the grass was like all that about him, and the horse wasn’t raised a pet. He tossed his head as she drew near and stepped away a pace or two.

Cautiously she tried again, talking to him gently. “You’re a good horse, a lovely horse!”

But he only edged away.

And so they continued until Hazel almost despaired of catching him. At last, however, her fingers touched the loose reins. She felt the horse’s quick jerk, strained every muscle to hold on, and won. He was in her hands. For how long was a question, for he was strong enough to drag her off, and she knew too little about managing him. Furthermore, her muscles were so sore from the long ride that she could scarcely cope with the beast. She dreaded getting on his back again. But it seemed the only way to stay with the horse or get anywhere, for she couldn’t hope to detain him by mere physical force if he decided otherwise.

She stood beside him for a moment, looking about her. Everything looked alike, yet different from anything she’d ever seen before. She must certainly get on the horse’s back, or she’d never find safety. The desert frightened her unreasonably.

Turning to the horse, she measured the space from the ground to the saddle and wondered how people mounted without a groom. Milton Hamar’s strong arm had helped her swing into the saddle that morning, and his hand had held her foot for that instant of her swing. The memory of it sent another shudder through her. If she’d known then what she did now, he never would have touched her! The blood rushed into her face and made her conscious of the heat of the day and her burning thirst. She must get water somewhere. She couldn’t stand this much longer.

Securing the reins over her arm, she reached up and took hold of the saddle, doubtfully at first and then desperately. She tried to reach the stirrup with one foot, failed and tried again, and struggled in vain to climb back into the saddle. But the impatient horse, with a toss of his head, reared, almost throwing the girl to the ground.

Desperate, she struggled up again and almost gained her seat, when the horse began to circle her, making her dizzy with trying to keep up with him.

Twice she lost the reins and had to get them again by stealthful means, and once she almost gave up in utter exhaustion.

Finally he lifted his head, stood stock-still, and let her struggle up his side. For a moment she sat there, astonished she’d made it. She decided to stay on his back until she reached safety. But the horse started off at a rapid pace, nearly upsetting his rider and almost causing her to lose the reins again.