of the rider. It was
difficult to give him a drink.

"Thanks, miss," he said, gratefully. His voice was stronger and less
hoarse.

"Have you any broken bones?" asked Lucy.

"I don't know. I can't feel much."

"Are you in pain?"

"Hardly. I feel sort of thick."

Lucy, being an intelligent girl, born in the desert and used to its
needs, had not often encountered a situation with which she was unable
to cope.

"Let me feel if you have any broken bones.... THAT arm isn't broken,
I'm positive."

The rider smiled faintly again. How he stared with his strained, dark
eyes! His face showed ghastly through the thin, soft beard and the tan.
Lucy found his right arm badly bruised, but not broken. She made sure
his collar-bones and shoulder-blades were intact. Broken ribs were
harder to locate; still, as he did not feel pain from pressure, she
concluded there were no fractures there. With her assistance he moved
his legs, proving no broken bones there.

"I'm afraid it's my--spine," he said.

"But you raised your head once," she replied. "If your back was--was
broken or injured you couldn't raise your head."

"So I couldn't. I guess I'm just knocked out. I was--pretty weak before
Wildfire knocked me--off Nagger."

"Wildfire?"

"That's the red stallion's name."

"Oh, he's named already?"

"I named him--long ago. He's known on many a range."

"Where?"

"I think far north of here. I--trailed him--days--weeks--months. We
crossed the great canyon--"

"The Grand Canyon?"

"It must be that."

"The Grand Canyon is down there," said Lucy, pointing. "I live on
it.... You've come a long way."

"Hundreds of miles! ... Oh, the ground I covered that awful canyon
country! ... But I stayed with Wildfire. An' I put a rope on him. An'
he got away.... An' it was a boy--no--a GIRL who--saved him for me--an'
maybe saved my life, too!"

Lucy looked away from the dark, staring eyes. A light in them confused
her.

"Never mind me. You say you were weak? Have you been ill?"

"No, miss, just starved.... I starved on Wildfire's trail."

Lucy ran to her saddle and got the biscuits out of the pockets of her
coat, and she ran back to the rider.

"Here. I never thought. Oh, you've had a hard time of it! I understand.
That wonderful flame of a horse! I'd have stayed, too. My father was a
rider once. Bostil. Did you ever hear of him?"

"Bostil. The name--I've heard." Then the rider lay thinking, as he
munched a biscuit. "Yes, I