g the pony, she
held tightly to the reins through a short, tense silence. Then presently,
from a point just ahead on the trail, came an answering nicker in the
horse language. Sheila's pony cavorted nervously and broke into a lope,
sharper this time in spite of the tight rein she kept on it. Her fear
grew, though mingling with it was a devout hope. If only the animal which
had answered her own pony belonged to the Double R! She would take back
many of the unkind and uncharitable things she had said about the country
since she had lost the trail.

The pony's gait had quickened into a gallop--which she could not check. In
the past few minutes the darkness had lifted a little; she saw that the
pony was making a gradual turn, following a bend in the river. Then came a
flash of lightning and she saw, a short distance ahead, a pony and rider,
stationary, watching. With an effort she succeeded in reining in her own
animal, and while she sat in the saddle, trembling and anxious, there came
another flash of lightning and she saw the rider's face.

The rider was a cowboy. She had distinctly seen the leathern chaps on his
legs; the broad hat, the scarf at his throat. Doubt and fear assailed her.
What if the man did not belong to the Double R? What if he were a road
agent--an outlaw? Immediately she heard an exclamation from him in which
she detected much surprise and not a little amusement.

"Shucks!" he said. "It's a woman!"

There came a slow movement. In the lifting darkness Sheila saw the man
return a pistol to the holster that swung at his right hip. He carelessly
threw one leg over the pommel of his saddle and looked at her. She sat
very rigid, debating a sudden impulse to urge her pony past him and escape
the danger that seemed to threaten. While she watched he shoved the broad
brimmed hat back from his forehead. He was not over five feet distant from
her; she could feel her pony nuzzling his with an inquisitive muzzle, and
she could dimly see the rider's face. It belonged to a man of probably
twenty-eight or thirty; it had regular features, keen, level eyes and a
firm mouth. There was a slight smile on his face and somehow the fear that
had oppressed Sheila began to take flight. And while she sat awaiting the
turn of events his voice again startled her:

"I reckon you've stampeded off your range, ma'am?"

A sigh of relief escaped Sheila. The voice was very gentle and friendly.

"I don't think that I have stampeded--w