Brownleigh liked the look in his eyes as he caught sight of his daughter, and his face lit up as he saw her spring into his arms, crying, “Daddy! Daddy! I’m so sorry I frightened you!”

Behind him stood Aunt Maria, with a frown on her face.

“Headstrong girl,” she murmured severely. “You have given us two terrible days!” And she pecked Hazel’s cheek stiffly. But no one else heard her in the excitement.

A young girl in servant’s attire was clasping her hands together and weeping in a kind of hysterical joy over the return of her mistress. And behind her in the gloom of the car vestibule loomed the dark countenance of a man with an angry, red mark across one cheek. Brownleigh guessed him to be Hamar, the man who had frightened Hazel. He turned from his face with disgust.

In the confusion over the girl’s return, the man of the desert prepared to slip away, but as he was about to mount his horse Hazel turned and saw him.

“Daddy, come and speak to the man who found me and brought me safely back,” she said, taking her father’s arm and leading him across the platform to where the missionary stood.

Hazel talked rapidly, her eyes shining, her cheeks like twin roses, telling in a breath of the horrors, the darkness, and the rescue, and of the stranger’s thoughtfulness.

Mr. Radcliffe stepped forward with outstretched hand to greet him, and the missionary took off his hat and shook hands graciously. He was unaware then of the piercing stares leveled at him from Aunt Maria, Hamar, and the young Radcliffe, as if to say, How dare he presume to expect recognition for doing a simply duty! He noted only the genuine heartiness in the father’s face and voice as he thanked him for what he’d done.

Then, like the practical man of the world he was, Mr. Radcliffe reached his hand into his pocket and drew out his checkbook. He remarked that, of course, he wished to reward his daughter’s rescuer and asked his name as he pulled off the cap from his fountain pen.

Brownleigh stepped back, the color rising in his face.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. “I wouldn’t think of taking anything for a simple act of humanity. It was a pleasure to be able to serve your daughter.” Then he swung himself into the saddle.

But Mr. Radcliffe was unaccustomed to such independence in those who served him and started to protest. Hazel, however, her cheeks fairly blazing, put a hand on her father’s arm.

“Daddy, you don’t understand,” she said. “My new friend is a clergyman—he’s a missionary, Daddy!”

“Nonsense, daughter! You don’t let a deed like this go unrewarded. A missionary, did you say? Then if you won’t take anything for yourself take it for your church. It’s all the same in the end.” He winked at Brownleigh whose anger was rising rapidly and who was struggling to keep a quiet spirit.

“Thank you,” he said again, “but not for any such service.”

“But I mean it!” grumbled the older man. “I want to donate something to a cause that employs a man like you. It’s good for the country to have such men patrolling the deserts. I never thought there was much excuse for home missions, but after this I’ll give it my hearty approval. It makes the country safer for tourists. Come—tell me your name, and I’ll write out a check. I’m quite serious.”

“Send any contributions you wish to the general fund,” said Brownleigh with dignity, mentioning the address of the New York board under whose auspices he was sent out. “But don’t mention me, please.”

He lifted his hat again and would have ridden away but for the distress in Hazel’s eyes.

Just then Hazel’s brother rushed up. “Dad, Aunt Maria wants to know if we can’t go on with this train. It’s in sight now, and she’s nearly crazy to get moving. There’s nothing to stop us from hitching on, is there? The agent has the order. Do, Dad. Let’s get out of here. I’m sick of it, and Aunt Maria is unbearable!”

“Yes, certainly, Arthur, speak to the agent.