Hamar’s horse, too, and he was behaving badly. I really didn’t have time to see and don’t know what became of Mr. Hamar. He isn’t much of a horseman and may have had some trouble with his horse. I don’t think he’d ridden before. Anyway, before I knew it, I was out of sight of everything but wide empty stretches with mountains and clouds at the ends everywhere, and going on and on and not getting any closer to anything.”

“This Mr. Hamar must have been a fool not to signal your friends at once if he couldn’t do anything himself,” said Brownleigh sternly. “I can’t understand why no one found you sooner. It was just a chance I found your whip and other little things. That’s what made me worry that someone was lost. Your father will be very anxious.”

Hazel sat up with flaming cheeks and started gathering her hair in a knot.

“Well, you see,” she stumbled, trying to explain without telling anything, “Mr. Hamar might have thought I went back to the car, or he might have thought I’d turn back in a few minutes. I don’t think he wanted to follow me just then. I was—angry with him!”

The young missionary looked at the beautiful girl sitting upright on the canvas he’d spread for her bed, as she tried in vain to bring order to her hair. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes shining, with both anger and embarrassment, and for a second he pitied the one who incurred her wrath. Then a strange unreasoning anger toward the unknown man took hold of him, and his face grew tender as he watched the girl.

“That was no excuse for letting you go alone into the desert,” he said severely. “He couldn’t have known, or he’d have risked his life to save you from what you’ve been through. No man could do otherwise!”

Hazel looked up, surprised at the vehemence of the words, and again the contrast between the two men struck her.

“I’m afraid,” she murmured, gazing toward the distant mountains thoughtfully, “that he isn’t much of a man.”

The young missionary was relieved to hear her say so. There was a moment’s embarrassed silence, and then Brownleigh reached into his pocket when he saw the golden coil of her hair slipping loose from its knot again.

“Will these help?” he asked quietly, handing her the comb and hairpins he’d found.

“Oh, my comb!” she exclaimed. “And hairpins! Where did you find them? Indeed they will help.” And she grasped them eagerly.

He turned away embarrassed, marveling at her touch as she took the bits of shell from his hand. No woman’s hand like that had touched his, even in greeting, since he bid his invalid mother good-bye and came out to the desert to do his work. It reminded him of the sweet awe he felt when he gazed at the womanly articles lying on the table in his cabin as if they were at home. He couldn’t understand his mood. It seemed like weakness. He turned aside and frowned at himself for his foolish sentimentality toward a stranger he found on the desert. He attributed it to the long, weary journey and the sleepless night.

“I found them in the sand. They helped me find you,” he said, trying to speak in an ordinary tone. But his voice took on a deep significance. He looked at her shyly, half fearing she must feel it. Then, murmuring something about looking after the horses, he hurried away.

When he returned, she’d mastered the rebellious hair, and it lay shining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head.