He mustn’t load Billy heavily, after the miles he’d already come. But he could take a bit of canvas strapped to the saddle and a small blanket. Of course it might be only a wild goose chase. But he couldn’t let his impression go unheeded.

Then there was the fort. In case he found the woman and restored her property in time, he might still reach the fort by evening. He must consider that also.

Soon he had his small baggage ready. Then he bathed and put on fresh clothing. Clean-shaven and ready, all but his coat, he laid down on his bed and relaxed for ten minutes, after which he felt fit for the expedition. He put on his coat and hat, gathered up the items he’d found, locked his cabin, and strode out to Billy with a lump of sugar in his hand.

“Billy, old fellow, we’re under orders to march again,” he said apologetically.

Billy answered with a neigh, submitting to the saddle as though ready for anything needed.

“Now, Father,” said the missionary with his upward look, “show us the way.”

So, taking the direction from the hoofprint in the sand, Billy and his master rode into the westering light of the desert toward the long, black, shadowed entrance of the canyon.

Chapter 3

The Desert

Hazel’s hair streamed in the wind, whipping across her face and eyes. Her breath came painfully, her eyes smarted, and her fingers ached in the viselike grip she was forced to keep on the saddle. She wondered just how long she could hold out. She felt as if she must let go and be whirled into space while the tempestuous steed sped on and left her.

She had never experienced anything like this. A horse ran away with her once, but that was a cradle to this tornado. She’d been frightened before but never like this. The blood pounded in her head and eyes until she thought it would burst forth, and its surging through her ears gave her a sensation of drowning. Without reins she was helpless to direct or even control her horse. It was like being on an express train with the engineer dead in the cab and no way to reach the brakes. They must stop sometime, and what then? Death seemed inevitable. Yet as the horse rushed madly on, she almost wished for death to end the horrifying ride.

It seemed hours before she realized the horse was no longer going at such a breakneck speed. The mad flying had settled into a long lope. He evidently had no intention of stopping and was heading to some distinct place as straight and determined as any human being ever laid out a course and forged ahead on it. Something about his whole beastly contour showed it was useless to try to turn him aside from it.

When her breath came less painfully, Hazel made a fitful attempt to drop a quiet, soothing word into his ear.

“Nice horse, good horse!” she called. But the wind caught her voice and flung it aside as it had flung her cap a few moments before, and the horse only laid his ears back and kept on.

She gathered her forces again.

“Nice horse! Whoa!” she cried a little louder.

But the horse had no intention of “stopping,” and though she repeated the command many times, her voice becoming more firm and normal, he only kept doggedly on his way.

She saw it was useless, and tears, usually for her under control, streamed down her pale cheeks.

“Horse, won’t you stop?” she cried, and her words ended with a sob.

The desert fled about her; yet it seemed to grow no shorter ahead. And the dark line of clouds, with the towering mountains beyond, were no nearer than when she first started. She felt almost as if she were riding on a rocking horse, never getting anywhere; but no rocking horse flew at such speed.

Suddenly she realized the pace had slackened, and the horse’s motion wasn’t as hard. If she weren’t so stiff and sore in every joint and muscle from being so tense, the riding wouldn’t have been all bad. But she was weary and longed to drop down on the desert sand and rest.

She could hold on now with one hand and relax the muscles of the other a little. With that hand she tried to do something with the hair that whipped about her face. She managed to twist it about her neck and tuck the ends into the neck of her riding habit, but from this frail binding it soon slipped free again.

She was conscious of the sun’s heat on her bare head and her eyes smarting. The pain in her chest was subsiding, and she could breathe freely again.

How soon would her father and brother miss her and hunt for her? She’d started somewhere between here and the mountains behind her.