I never felt so little before.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said, smiling. “Now are you comfortable? If so, we’ll start.”

Billy arched his neck and turned his head to survey his new rider, with a gentle look on his bay face and in his eye.

“Oh, isn’t he a beauty!” exclaimed the girl, reaching out a timid hand to pat his neck.

The horse bowed, and Brownleigh noticed the gleam of a jewel on the little hand.

“Billy’s my good friend and constant companion,” he said. “We’ve faced some long, hard days together. He wants to tell you now that he’s proud to carry you.”

Billy bowed up and down, and Hazel laughed out loud with pleasure. Then her face grew sober again.

“But you’ll have to walk,” she said. “I can’t take your horse and let you walk. I won’t do that. I’m going to walk with you.”

“And use up what strength you have so you couldn’t even ride?” he said pleasantly. “No, I couldn’t allow that, and I’m pleased to walk with a companion. A missionary’s life is pretty lonesome sometimes. Come, Billy. We must be starting, for we want to make a good ten miles before we stop to rest, if our guest can stand the journey.”

Billy started out with stately steps, and Brownleigh walked by his side, taking long, easy strides and watching the path ahead. He also kept furtive watch of the girl’s face, for he knew her strength must be limited after the previous day’s ride.

On top of the mesa, Hazel caught her breath as she looked toward the great mountains and the expanse of seemingly infinite shades and colorings.

Brownleigh called her attention to various points of interest. The slender dark line across the plain was mesquite. He told her that once they entered it, it would seem to spread out as though it filled the valley. Then, looking back, the grassy slope below them would appear to be an insignificant yellow streak. He told her it was always that way in this land, that the kind of landscape one was passing through filled the whole view and seemed the only thing in life. He said he supposed it was that way in our lives, that the immediate present filled the whole view of the future until we came to something else.

The look in his eyes as he spoke those words made her turn from the landscape and wonder about him and his life.

Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed and idly broke off a bit of another bush, handing it to her.

“The Indians call it ‘the weed that wasn’t scared,’” he said. “Isn’t it an odd name?”

“It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone under this big sky. I wouldn’t like it even if I were only a weed,” she said, looking around and shivering at the thought of her fearful ride alone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of green into the buttonhole of her riding habit where it rested proudly against the rich green cloth.

For an instant, the missionary studied the picture of the lovely girl on the horse and forgot he was only a missionary. Then with a start he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun had already passed its zenith, and the trail ahead was long. Then he remembered.

“By the way, is this yours?” he asked and pulled the velvet cap out of his pocket.

“Oh, where did you find it?” she cried, settling it on her head like a touch of velvet in a crown. “I dropped it in front of a tiny little cabin when I lost all hope. I called and called, but the wind threw my voice back into my throat, and no one came out to answer me.”

“It was my house,” he said. “I found it on a sagebrush a few feet from my door. How I wish I’d been home to answer your call!”

“Your house!” she exclaimed. “It couldn’t have been. It wasn’t big enough for anybody—not anybody like you—to live in.