of a
mule. But what we was scrappin' about, an' where he is now, an' how I
come here, is somethin' I don't savvy."

Step by step the girl detailed what had happened while the Texan
listened in silence. "And now," she concluded, "he's gone. Just
when--" her voice broke and once more she buried her face in her arms.
Tex saw that she was sobbing silently. He felt for his "makings" and
drew from his pocket a little sack of soggy tobacco and some wet
papers. He returned them to his pocket and rose to his feet.

"You're cold," he said softly. "There's dry matches in the pack. I'll
make a fire an' get those wet saddles off the horses."

Alice did not look up and the man busied himself with the pack. A few
minutes later she felt his fingers upon her shoulder. He pointed
toward a fire that crackled cheerfully from the depths of a bull pine
thicket. "I fixed you up a shelter tent and spread your blankets. The
tarp kep' 'em tolerable dry. Go over there an' get off those clothes.
You must be wet through--nothin' short of a divin' suit would have kep'
that rain out!"

"But----"

He forestalled the objection. "There won't be any one to bother you.
I'm goin' down the creek."

The girl noticed that his horse, saddled with Endicott's saddle stood
close behind her.

"I didn't mean that!" she exclaimed. "But you are cold--chilled to the
bone. You need the fire more than I do."

The man shook his head: "I'll be goin' now," he said. "You'd better
make you some coffee."

"You're going to--to----"

Tex nodded: "Yes. To find the pilgrim. If he's alive I'll find him.
An' if he ain't I'll find him. An' when I do, I'll bring him back to
you." He turned abruptly, swung onto his horse, and Alice watched him
as he disappeared down the valley, keeping to the higher ground. Not
until she was alone did the girl realize how miserably cold and
uncomfortable she was. She rose stiffly, and walking slowly to the
edge of the bank, looked out over the little valley. The great
reservoir had run out in that first wild rush of water and now the last
rays of moonlight showed only wide, glistening pools, and the creek
subsided to nearly its normal proportions. With a shudder she turned
toward the fire. Its warmth felt grateful. She removed the slicker
and riding costume and, wrapping herself, squaw-like, in a blanket, sat
down in the little shelter tent. She found that the Texan had filled
the coffee pot and, throwing in so