Why, it wasn’t more than a—a shed—just a little board shanty.”

“Exactly, my shack!” he said half apologetically, half comically. “You should see the inside. It’s not as bad as it looks. I wish I could take you that way, but it’s somewhat out of the way to the railroad. And we must take the shortcut if we want to keep your father from more worry. Can you go on further now?”

“Oh yes,” she said with sudden trouble in her face. “Papa will be very worried, and Aunt Maria—oh, Aunt Maria will be wild with fear. She’ll tell me this is just what she expected from my going out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not to go. She said it wasn’t ladylike.”

As they continued she told him about her people, describing even the little idiosyncrasies of her aunt, her brother, her father, her maid, and even the big cook. The young man soon had a picture of the private car with all its luxuries and the story of a journey that was one long fairy tale of pleasure. Only the man Hamar wasn’t mentioned; but the missionary hadn’t forgotten him. Somehow he’d disliked him from the first mention of his name. He blamed him fiercely for not coming after the girl, yet he blessed the fortune that had given him that honor.

They were descending into the canyon now, but not by the steep trail the horse took her on the night before. It was rough enough, however, and the descent, though it was into the heart of nature’s beauty storehouse, frightened Hazel. She started at every steep place and clutched at the saddle, pressing her teeth hard into her lower lip until it grew white. Her face was white also, and a sudden faintness seemed to come upon her.

Brownleigh noticed instantly. Walking close behind the horse and guiding his steps, he put his free arm around her to steady her. Then he asked her to lean toward him and not be afraid.

His strength steadied her and gave her confidence, and his pleasant voice pointing out the sights along the way helped her forget her fear. He made her look up and showed her the great ferns hanging over in a green fringe at the top of the bare rocks above, their delicate lacery standing out like green fretwork against the blue sky. He pointed to a cave in the rocks high up and told her about cave dwellers who had once hollowed it out for a home. He described the stone axes, clay jars, corn mills, and woven yucca sandals found there and told about other curious cave dwellings in this part of the country. And he responded to her questions with the most curious information, the likes of which she’d never heard.

When they reached the shadows of the canyon floor he brought her a cooling drink of spring water in the tin cup and lifted her unexpectedly from the horse. Then he had her sit on a mossy spot where sweet flowers clustered, so she could rest for a few minutes. He knew the ride down the steep path had tried her nerves.

Yet he performed his attentions to her, whether lifting her into or out of the saddle or putting his arm about her to support her on the ride, with such courteous grace as to remove all personality from his touch. She marveled at it while she sat and rested and watched him from the distance, watering Billy at a noisy stream that chattered through the canyon.

He put her on the horse again, and they made their way through the cool beauty of the canyon along the stream’s edge, threading among the trees and over boulders and rough places, until at last in the late afternoon they came out again upon the plain.

The missionary looked anxiously at the sun. It took longer to travel through the canyon than he’d anticipated. The day was waning. He quickened Billy into a trot and settled into a long athletic run beside him, while the girl’s cheeks flushed with the exercise and wind. And her admiration for her escort grew.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked at last when he slowed down and made Billy walk again.

“Tired!” Brownleigh answered and laughed.