Then she turned hers away again.

“Yes,” she continued, “you thought I—wasn’t—fit!”

She was pulling up bits of green from the ground beside her. She felt a frightened flutter in her throat. It was the point of the thorn that had remained in her heart. It wasn’t in her nature not to speak of it, yet when she uttered it she felt he might misunderstand.

But the missionary answered in a cry like some hurt creature.

“Not fit! Oh, my dear! You don’t understand—”

His tone extracted the last piece of rankling thorn from Hazel’s heart and brought the blood to her cheeks again.

With a light laugh that echoed with relief and a deep new joy she dared not face yet, she sprang to her feet.

“Oh yes, I understand,” she said cheerfully, “and it’s true. I’m not a bit fit for a missionary. But shouldn’t we be moving on? I’m quite rested now.”

With sadness on his face he acquiesced, fastening the canvas in place on the saddle and putting her on the horse with swift, silent movements. Then as she gathered up the reins he lingered for an instant and, taking the hem of her dress in his fingers, stooped and touched his lips lightly to the cloth.

Something so humble and self-forgetful in the homage brought tears to the girl’s eyes. She longed to put her arms around his neck and draw his face close to hers and tell him how her heart was beating in sympathy.

But he hadn’t even asked for her love, and there must be silence between them. He showed it was the only way. Her own reserve closed her lips and commanded her to show no sign.

They rode on silently for the most part, the horses’ hooves beating in unison. Now and then a rabbit scuttled on ahead of them, or a horned toad hopped out of their path. Short brown lizards palpitated on bits of wood along the way, and occasionally a bright green one showed itself and disappeared. Once they came upon a village of prairie dogs and paused to watch their antics.

As they turned away, she noticed a bit of green he’d stuck in his buttonhole and recognized it for the same grass she’d played with as they talked by the wayside. Her eyes charged him with picking it up afterward, and his eyes replied with the truth. But they said nothing about it, for they needed no words.

Not until they reached the top of a sloping hill and came in sight of the valley with its winding track gleaming in the late afternoon sun, the little wooden station, and the few cabins dotting here and there, did she realize their journey together was at an end. She’d started from here two days ago.

He didn’t need to tell her. She saw the smug red gleam of the private car standing on the track not far away. Her friends were down there in the valley, and the stiff conventionalities of her life stood ready to build a wall between this man and her. They would sweep him out of her life as if she’d never met him, never been found and saved by him, and carry her away to their tiresome round of parties and pleasure excursions again.

She lifted her eyes with a frightened, almost pleading glance as if to ask him to turn back to the desert with her again. She found his eyes on her in a long deep farewell gaze, as someone looks on the face of a loved one soon to be parted from earth. She couldn’t bear the brilliance of the love she saw there, yet her own heart leaped up anew to meet it in answering love.

But they had only this one glance, before they heard voices and the sound of horses’ hooves. Almost instantly three horsemen—Shag Bunce, an Indian, and Hazel’s brother—swept into sight around the clump of sagebrush below the trail. They were talking excitedly and evidently starting out on a new search.

Brownleigh started the horses on, shouting out a greeting, and was answered with instant cheers from the approaching party. Shag Bunce shot his gun into the air to signal that the lost was found, and those shots seemed to echo from the valley and swell into shouting and rejoicing.

Then confusion reigned.

The handsome, reckless brother with gold hair like Hazel’s embraced her eagerly. He told how he’d done this and that to find her. He blamed the country, the horses, the guides, and the roads. And he paid little attention to the missionary who instantly dropped behind to give him his place. In a moment the other people surrounded them, all talking at once, and Hazel, distressed because her brother barely noticed the man who saved her, sought three times to make some sort of introduction. But the brother was scolding his sister for getting lost and was too excited to take it in.

Then the father stepped out of the car. His face was pale and haggard with worry.