“It sure does, Miss Morrell,” he returned, grimly. “Is—is the ranch far?”
“Some distance. And we’ve got to walk. But bear up if you can——”
She saw him waver in the saddle. If he fell, she could not be sure just how Rose, the spirited pony, would act.
“Say!” she said, coming around and walking by his side, leading the other mount by the bridle. “You lean on me. Don’t want you falling out of the saddle. Too hard work to get you back again.”
“I guess you think I am a tenderfoot!” muttered young Stone.
He never knew how they reached Sunset Ranch. The fall, the terrible wrench of his foot, and the endurance of the pain was finally too much for him. In a half-fainting condition he sank part of his weight on the girl’s shoulder, and she sturdily trudged along the rough trail, bearing him up until she thought her own limbs would give way.
At last she even had to let the buckskin run at large, he made her so much trouble. But the Rose pony was “a dear!”
Somewhere about ten o’clock the dogs began to bark. She saw the flash of lanterns and heard the patter of hoofs.
She gave voice to the long range yell, and a dozen anxious punchers replied. Great discussion had arisen over where she could have gone, for nobody had seen her ride off toward the View that afternoon.
“Whar you been, gal?” demanded Big Hen Billings, bringing his horse to a sudden stop across the trail. “Hul-lo! What’s that you got with yer?”