The cottonwoods and oaks grew thick at the base of the cliffs, almost concealing them, and rose dark and towering above the walls. The horse picked his way through the rough, slippery boulders and rocks, without regard to the tree branches that swept across her face and caught in her long hair.

Vainly she strove to guide him another way, but he kept turning back.

Deeper they rode into the gloom, and the frightened girl cried out with the wild hope that someone might be near and rescue her. But the canyon aisle caught up her voice and echoed it far and high, until it returned to her in a volume of sepulchral sound that filled her mouth again. Each moment the deepening shadows shut down more impenetrably, until the girl could only close her eyes, lower her head as much as possible to escape the branches—and pray.

Then suddenly from above, where the distant sky gave a line of light and a single star appeared to pierce the dusk like a great jewel on a lady’s gown, a sound arose: bloodcurdling and hideous, high, sending a chill through her soul. She’d heard this once before, a night or two ago, when their train stopped in a desert for water or repairs or something and the porter told her it was coyotes. It was distant then and interesting to think of being so near wild animals. She’d peered from the safety of her berth behind the silky curtains and imagined she saw shadowy forms steal over the plain under the moonlight. But it was very different to hear the sound now, out alone among their haunts, with no weapon or person to protect her.

Still she held to the saddle, expecting every minute to be her last, while the coyotes continued to howl.

Down below the trail somewhere she could hear the soft trickling of water with maddening distinctness. Oh, if she could only quench her terrible thirst! The horse seemed refreshed from the grass and water. But the girl, who until now had never known a want unsatisfied, was faint with hunger and burning with thirst, while this unusual demand on her strength was testing her to the limit.

The canyon grew darker, and more stars clustered overhead—but so far away! The coyotes seemed only a shadow removed from around and above her. The horse slipped and stumbled on in the darkness, but she no longer tried to turn him.

Soon they were climbing upward again, scrambling over rough places, with large rocks on their path and trees growing close to the trail. The horse seemed oblivious to every obstacle in his path. The howling of the coyotes was clearer, but by now she felt almost numb, even to her fear. She was lying low on the horse, clinging to his neck, too faint to cry out. Then suddenly a low branch caught her, tangling her hair about it. The horse struggled to gain his footing. But the branch held her fast while the horse scrambled on, leaving his helpless rider behind him on the rocky trail, swept from the saddle by the tough old branch.

After much difficulty the horse reached a bit of shelving rock and stopped, looking back with an inquiring snort. But the girl lying in the darkness below gave no sign of life, and after another snort and a half neigh he turned and scrambled on upward till he gained the mesa above.

The late moon arose and hunted through the canyon until it rested on the golden hair spread over the rocks, touching Hazel’s face with its cold light. The coyotes howled on in solemn chorus, and still the figure lay quiet, unconscious of her surroundings.

Chapter 4

The Quest

John Brownleigh reached the waterhole at sunset, and while he waited for his horse to drink he considered what to do next. If he meant to reach the fort for dinner he should turn at once sharply to the right and ride hard, unless he was willing to be late. The woman at the fort preferred to have her guests on time, though.

The sun was down, leaving long splashes of crimson and gold in the west, with their reflection shimmering over the muddy water below him. Billy drank thirstily.

But, as the missionary watched the painted water and tried to decide his course, his eye caught a bit of white, clinging to a twig at the edge of the water. It seemed so out of place in the desert that it startled him, as the jewel in its golden setting in the sand had that morning. He bent over and picked up the wet handkerchief. Its daintiness reminded him of the refinement and culture he’d left behind in the East.

A tiny letter was embroidered in the corner, but already the light was growing too dim to read it. Though he held it up and looked through it and felt the embroidery with his fingertip, he couldn’t be sure it was either of the letters engraved on the whip.

Nevertheless, the delicate white messenger determined his course. He searched the edge of the waterhole for hoofprints in the fading light and then mounted Billy with decision and took up his quest where he’d almost abandoned it. He was convinced a woman was alone in the desert somewhere.

It was long past midnight when Billy and the missionary came upon the horse, grazing high on the mesa. The animal had evidently felt the need for food and rest before proceeding further.

Brownleigh hobbled the two horses so they could feed together. He then examined the horse and saddle.