ook in his eyes made her turn from the landscape and wonder about
him and his life.

Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed, and idly broke off a
bit of another bush, handing it to her.

"The Indians call it 'the weed that was not scared,'" he said. "Isn't it
an odd suggestive name?"

"It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone under
this terribly big sky. I wouldn't like it even if I were only a weed,"
and she looked around and shivered with the thought of her fearful ride
alone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of brave green into
the buttonhole of her riding habit and it looked of prouder lineage than
any weed as it rested against the handsome darkness of the rich green
cloth. For an instant the missionary studied the picture of the lovely
girl on the horse and forgot that he was only a missionary. Then with a
start he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun had
already passed its zenith, and the way was long before them. His eyes
lingered wistfully on the gleam of her hair where the sun touched it
into burnished gold. Then he remembered.

"By the way, is this yours?" he asked, and brought out of his pocket the
little velvet cap.

"Oh, where did you find it?" she cried, settling it on her head like a
touch of velvet in a crown. "I dropped it in front of a tiny little
cabin when my last hope vanished. I called and called but the wind threw
my voice back into my throat and no one came out to answer me."

"It was my house," he said. "I found it on a sage-bush a few feet from
my own door. Would that I had been at home to answer your call!"

"Your house!" she exclaimed, in wonder. "Oh, why, it couldn't have been.
It wasn't big enough for anybody--not anybody like you--to live in. Why,
it wasn't anything more than a--a shed,--just a little board shanty."

"Exactly; my shack!" he said half apologetically, half comically. "You
should see the inside. It's not so bad as it looks. I only wish I could
take you that way, but the fact is it's somewhat out of the way to the
railroad, and we must take the short cut if we want to shorten your
father's anxiety. Do you feel able to go on further now?"

"Oh, yes, quite," she said with sudden trouble in her face. "Papa will
be very much worried, and Aunt Maria--oh, Aunt Maria will be wild with
anxiety. She will tell me that this is just what she expected from my
going out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not t