"Thank you," he answered. "I'm sure I don't know why I told you. I never
told any one before."

There was a long silence between them. The man seemed to have forgotten
her as he rode with his eyes upon his horse's neck, and his thoughts
apparently far away.

At last the girl said softly, as if she were rendering return for the
confidence given her, "I ran away from a man."

The man lifted his eyes courteously, questioningly, and waited.

"He is big and dark and handsome. He shoots to kill. He killed my brother.
I hate him. He wants me, and I ran away from him. But he is a coward. I
frightened him away. He is afraid of dead men that he has killed."

The young man gave his attention now to the extraordinary story which the
girl told as if it were a common occurrence.

"But where are your people, your family and friends? Why do they not send
the man away?"

"They're all back there in the sand," she said with a sad little flicker
of a smile and a gesture that told of tragedy. "I said the prayer over
them. Mother always wanted it when we died. There wasn't anybody left but
me. I said it, and then I came away. It was cold moonlight, and there were
noises. The horse was afraid. But I said it. Do you suppose it will do any
good?"

She fastened her eyes upon the young man with her last words as if