few simoleons with you. You are becoming better looking ever
minute."

For a touch of color she margined one side of her drawing with a
little spray of Pentstemon whose bright tubular flower the canyon
knew as "hummingbird's dinner horn." That gave, her the idea of
introducing a touch of living interest, so bearing down upon the
flowers from the upper right-hand corner of her drawing she
deftly sketched in a ruby-throated hummingbird, and across the
bottom of the sheet the lace of a few leaves of fern. Then she
returned the drawing and pencil to her knapsack, and making sure
of her footing, worked her way forward. With her long slender
fingers she began teasing the plant loose from the rock and the
surrounding soil. The roots penetrated deeper than she had
supposed and in her interest she forgot her precarious footing
and pulled hard. The plant gave way unexpectedly, and losing her
balance, Linda plunged down the side of the canyon catching
wildly at shrubs and bushes and bruising herself severely on
stones, finally landing in a sitting posture on the road that
traversed the canyon.

She was not seriously hurt, but she did not present a picturesque
figure as she sprawled in the road, her booted feet thrust
straight before her, one of her long black braids caught on a
bush at her back, her blouse pulled above her breeches, the
contents of her knapsack decorating the canyon side and the road
around her; but high in one hand, without break or blemish, she
triumphantly held aloft the rare Cotyledon. She shrugged her
shoulders, wiggled her toes, and moved her arms to assure herself
that no bones were broken; then she glanced at her drawings and