. Maybe we'll meet somebody or somebody'll come, or maybe there'll be
somebody at the homesteader's cabin. Which will you do, ride or stay?"

Vivian had decided before she looked at Pedro. She always felt that Pedro
entertained scorn for her, contempt that wild gallops through the
sagebrush should, together with his youth and speed, present terrors. She
knew that he despised her for preferring Siwash to him.

"I'll stay," she said firmly. "Pedro will do more for you than for me.
When will you be back?"

Virginia was already in the saddle.

"Probably in little more than an hour, if I find folks," she said. "Keep
giving him some water if he needs it, and fan him. He may come to.
Good-by."

The sound of Pedro's feet died away all too quickly. The stillness which
followed was deeper than ever. It fairly sang in the air. For fully five
minutes Vivian stood motionless, loath to believe that Virginia had gone.
She did not want to be alone! Something inside of her cried out against
it. But she _was_ alone--she, Vivian Winters, alone with a dying cow boy
on a limitless Wyoming plain. Since the relentless knowledge pushed itself
upon her, she might as well accept it. _She was alone!_ And there was the
cow boy!

Virginia had said that he might come to! For her own sake she hoped he
didn't. He was awful enough as he was--blood-smeared and dirty--but at
least he did not realize the situation, and that was a scant comfort. If
he came to, he might be insane. Blows on the head often made persons so.
Given insanity and a gun, what would be the demonstration?

A low groan from the quaking-asp thicket brought Vivian to herself.
Imagination had no place here. This man was hurt, and she was strong and
well. There was a spring of water near by, and she had extra handkerchiefs
in her pocket. It was plainly up to her!

The stillness was less persistent after she had gone to the spring for
water. She forgot all about it as she knelt beside the wounded man and
washed the blood from his pain-distorted face. He opened his eyes as he
felt the cold cloths, and Vivian saw that they were good, blue eyes. They,
together with the absence of blood and dirt, told her that her patient was
young--only a boy, in fact! The cut on his head was ugly! Something
fluttered inside of her as she parted his hair to place a clean
handkerchief upon it, and for a moment she was ill and faint. The cow
boy's "Thank you, miss," brought her to herself. Perhaps he wa