xts and by a solemn oath of vengeance.
Was it likely that anything she could say would have weight with him? For
the present the girl gave up her resolve to convert him to a more
Christian point of view.

The sun had sunk behind the canon wall when Pierre Roubideau arrived with
a travois which he had hastily built. There was no wagon-road up the
gulch and it would have been difficult to get the buckboard in as far as
the fork over the broken terrain. As a voyageur of the North he had often
seen wounded men carried by the Indians in travois across the plains. He
knew, too, that the tribes of the Southwest use them. This one was
constructed of two sixteen-foot poles with a canvas lashed from one bar
to the other. The horse was harnessed between the ends of the shafts, the
other ends dragging on the ground.

Clanton looked at this device distastefully. "I'm no squaw. Whyfor can't
I climb on its back an' ride?"

"Because you are seeck. It iss of the importance that you do not exert
yourself. Voyons! You will be comfortable here. N'est-ce pas, Polly?"
Pierre gesticulated as he explained volubly. He even illustrated the
comfort by lying down in the travois himself and giving a dramatic
representation of sleep.

The young man grumbled, but gave way reluctantly.

"How's Billie Prince?" he asked presently from the cot where he lay.

"He will hafe a fever, but soon he will be well again. I, Pierre, promise
it. For he iss of a good strength and sound as a dollar."

Pauline, rifle in hand, scouted ahead of the travois and picked the
smoothest way down the rough ravine. The horse that Roubideau drove was
an old and patient one. Its master held it to a slow, even pace, so that
the wounded boy was jolted as little as possible. When they had reached
the entrance to the gorge, travel across the valley became less bumpy.

The young girl walked as if she loved it. The fine, free swing of the
hill woman was in her step. She breasted the slope with the light grace
of a forest faun. Presently she dropped back to a place beside the
conveyance and smiled encouragement at him.

"Pretty bad, is it?"

He grinned back. "It's up to me to play the hand I've been dealt."

That he was in a good deal of pain was easy to guess.

"We're past the worst of it," Pauline told him, "Up this hill--down the
other side--and then we're home."

The bawling of thirsty cattle and the blatting of calves could be heard
now.

"It iss that Monsieur Webb