e her to him.

Then, with the agent leading in the trail of the outlaws, they set off
at a walk through the sickening sun-glare for the water hole in the edge
of the Bad Lands.

Chapter XVIII. The Battle In The Canyon

Hunched over, with Isobel's head sheltered against his breast, Philip
rode a dozen paces behind the agent. It seemed as if the sun had
suddenly burst in molten fire upon the back of his neck, and for a time
it made him dizzy. His bridle reins hung loosely over the pommel. He
made no effort to guide his horse, which followed after Billinger's.
It was Billinger who brought him back to himself. The agent waited for
them, and when he swung over in one stirrup to look at the girl it was
the animal ferocity in his face, and not his words, that aroused Philip.

"She's coming to," he said, straining to keep the tremble out of his
voice. "I don't believe she's much hurt. You take this canteen. I'm
going ahead."

He gave Philip the water and leaned over again to gaze into the girl's
face.

"I don't believe she's much hurt," he repeated in a hoarse, dry
whisper. "You can leave her at the water hole just beyond that hill off
there--and then you can follow me."

Philip clutched the girl tighter to him as the agent rode off. He saw
the first faint flush returning into her cheeks, the reddening of her
lips, the gentle tremor of her silken lashes, and forgetful of all
else but her, he moaned her name, cried out his love for her, again and
again, even as her eyes opened and she stared up into the face of the
man who had come to her first at Lac Bain, and who had fought for her
there. For a breath or two the wonder of this thing that was happening
held her speechless and still lifeless, though her senses were adjusting
themselves with lightning swiftness. At first Philip had not seen her
open eyes, and he believed that she did not hear the words of love he
whispered in her hair. When he raised her face a little from his breast
she was looking at him with all the sweet sanity in the world.

A moment there was silence--a silence of even the breath in Philip's
body, the beating of his heart. His arms loosened a little. He drew
himself up rigid, and the girl lifted her head a trifle, so that their
eyes met squarely, and a world of question and understanding passed
between them in an instant. As swift as morning glow a flush mounted
into Isobel's face, then ebbed as swiftly, and Philip cried: "You were
hurt--hurt