"I suppose I'll have to," he said with the candor of his age. "How did you get lost?"
Her explanation was commonplace. She had gone for a ride in the morning, and the mountains had seemed closer than they were. Tiring she had dismounted, and had been unable to catch her pony. She had followed him until finally he had disappeared, by which time she was hopelessly confused.
"Then," she said, "I walked and walked, and I found a lot of paths, but they didn't seem to go anywhere. I—I was frightened. And then I heard two shots and I ran as hard as could, and when I saw you I was frightened again. But now of course it's all right."
The boy grunted. It was just like a girl to let her pony get away, and get lost, and follow cattle trails all over the country instead of taking her bearings and striking for home as any intelligent being would have done. Girls were fools, anyway. They were always getting into trouble, and dumping themselves down on a man to be looked after. If old Godfrey French was her uncle, why in blazes didn't some of the French boys take care of this kid? They hadn't anything else to do.
The boy had little or no use for the French family, which held itself a little aloof from most of the inhabitants of the district. It consisted of Godfrey French, his four sons and one daughter. The sons were young men. They were all big, powerful young fellows, and one of them, Gavin, was reputed to be the strongest man in the neighborhood. The daughter, a long-limbed slip of a girl who rode like a cow-puncher, was about the boy's age. Though Godfrey French had a ranch it was worked scarcely at all. The boys did not like work, and apparently did not have to. Godfrey French was reputed to have money. His ranch was a hang-out for what were known as "remittance men", young Englishmen who received more or less regular allowances from home—or perhaps to keep away from home. There were rumors of gambling and hard drinking at French's ranch.
"Well, I'll take you home," the boy said. "You can ride my pony. He's on a rope a mile from here. But I'll have to hang up this buck, or the coyotes will chew him."
He found two small saplings close together, bent them down, trimmed them and lashed their tops. Over these he placed the tied legs of the buck. With a little search he found a long dry pole. With this he had a tripod. As he hoisted with the pole the spring of the saplings raised the buck, which dangled clear, out of reach of all four-footed marauders. The girl watched him, wide-eyed. To her it seemed a marvellously clever piece of engineering.
"Well, now we'll be going," the boy announced. He started at his ordinary pace, but reduced it immediately because she seemed very tired. Coming to a creek she hesitated and stopped.
"Won't you wash your face and hands, please?" she said.
The boy stared at her, but washed obediently. So did she, and began to dry her face with a tiny handkerchief at which the boy cast a glance of contempt. He drew forth his own, which was two feet square, and originally had been figured in red and yellow, but unfortunately the two colors had run together.