that pure, sweet face, and doubt that she was as good as she was
beautiful. If it was not so, he hoped he would never find it out. She
seemed to him a woman yet unspoiled, and he shrank from the thought of
what the world might do for her--the world and its cultivation, which
would not be for her, because she was friendless and without money or
home. The world would have nothing but toil to give her, with a meagre
living.

Where was she going, and what was she proposing to do? Must he not try to
help her in some way? Did not the fact that she had saved his life demand
so much from him? If he had not found her, he must surely have starved
before he got out of this wild place. Even yet starvation was not an
impossibility; for they had not reached any signs of habitation yet, and
there was but one more portion of corn-meal and a little coffee left. They
had but two matches now, and there had been no more flights of birds, nor
brooks with fishes.

In fact, the man found a great deal to worry about as he lay there, too
weary with the unaccustomed exercise and experiences to sleep.

He reflected that the girl had told him very little, after all, about her
plans. He must ask her. He wished he knew more of her family. If he were
only older and she younger, or if he had the right kind of a woman friend
to whom he might take her, or send her! How horrible that that scoundrel
was after her! Such men were not men, but beasts, and should be shot down.

Far off in the distance, it might have been in the air or in his
imagination, there sometimes floated a sound as of faint voices or shouts;
but they came and went, and he listened, and by and by heard no more. The
horses breathed heavily behind their sage-brush stable, and the sun rose