them fast. When the procession was ready to start
he strode on ahead, leading his own horse and hiding from his new
friends the widening grin upon his face.

The sun was up; already the still heat of the desert was in the air.
Behind the tall rancher and his glossy mare came Professor Longstreet
driving his two pack animals. Just behind him, with much grave
speculation in her eyes, came Helen. A new man had swum all
unexpectedly into her ken and she was busy cataloguing him. He looked
the native in this environment, but for all that he was plainly a man
of her own class. No illiteracy, no wild shy awkwardness marked his
demeanour. He was as free and easy as the north wind; he might, after
all, be likeable. Certainly it was _courtois_ of him to set himself on
foot to be one of them. The mare looked gentle despite her high life;
Helen wondered if Alan Howard had thought of offering her his mount?

They had come to the first of the low-lying hills.

'Miss Longstreet,' called Howard, stopping and turning, 'wouldn't you
like to swing up on Sanchia? She is dying to be ridden.'

The trail here was wide and clearly defined; hence Longstreet and his
two horses went by and Helen came up with Howard. Hers was the trick
of level, searching eyes. She looked steadily at him as she said
evenly:

'So her name is Sanchia?'

For an instant the man did not appear to understand. Then suddenly
Helen was treated to the sight of the warm red seeping up under his
tan. And then he slapped his thigh and laughed; his laughter seeming
unaffected and joyous.

'Talk about getting absent-minded in my old age,' he declared. 'Her
name did use to be Sanchia; I changed it to Helen. Think of my sliding
back to the old name.'

Helen's candid look did not shift for the moment that she paused. Then
she went on by him, following her father, saying merely:

'Thank you, I'll walk. And if she were mine I'd keep the old name;
Sanchia suits her exactly.'

But as she hurried on after her father she had time for reflection;
plainly the easy-mannered Mr. Alan Howard had renamed his mare only
this very morning; as plainly had he in the first place called her
Sanchia in honour of some other friend or chance acquaintance. Helen
wondered vaguely who the original Sanchia was. To her imagination the
name suggested a slim, big-eyed Mexican girl. She found time to wonder
further how many times Mr. Howard had named his horse.

They skirted a