A sudden doubt assailed Bowles, and he tugged sharply at the bit; he pulled down to a walk and looked behind; then, as he saw no sign, he stopped short and let the cattle go. For a tense minute he listened while Wa-ha-lote puffed like a steamboat; then, with a grave look on his face, he turned and rode back up the hill.
"O Miss Lee!" he shouted. "Dixie!"
And a thin answer came from the slope above.
"Catch my horse!" it said. "He's down in the gulch!"
Bowles stared about and caught sight of the red roan's hide as he stood behind some trees; then, with his rope about its neck, he went spurring up the hill.
Dixie Lee was lying very awkwardly among the rocks at the foot of a scrubby juniper, and at the first glance Bowles knew she was hurt. Not only was her hat gone and her stout skirt ripped and torn, but her face was very pale and her lips drawn tight together.
"Horse fell with me," she said, greeting him with a fleeting smile; "hurt my knee right bad. First time I've known him to do that—say, help me out of these rocks."
Very tenderly Bowles reached down and raised her to her feet; then, with one arm about his neck, she tried to hobble away, but at the second hop she paused.
"Nope—hurts too bad," she said; "put me down."
But Bowles did nothing of the kind. He took her up in his strong young arms and carried her down the hill. He even wished it were farther, but she spied a bed of leaves under a cedar and ordered him to put her there. Then she looked up at him curiously and for a while lay very still.