"Are you not afraid?"
"My cognomen is Fearless Frank, lady; you can draw conclusions from that."
He went and caught the horse, arranged a blanket in the saddle so that she could ride side-fashion, and assisted her to mount.
The sun was touching the lips of the horizon with a golden kiss; more time than Frank had supposed' had elapsed since he left the train.
Far off toward the east shadows were hugging close behind the last lingering rays of sunlight; a couple of coyotes were sneaking into view a few rods away; birds were winging homeward; a perfume-laden breeze swept down from the Black Hills, and fanned the pink cheeks of Alice Terry into a vivid glow.
"We cannot go far," said Frank, thoughtfully, "before darkness will overtake us. Perhaps we had better remain in the canal, here, where there is both grass and water. In the morning we will take a fresh start."
The plan was adopted; they camped in the break, or "canal," near where Alice had been tortured.
Out of his saddle-bags Frank brought forth crackers, biscuit and dried venison; these, with clear sparkling water from the spring in the chaparral, made a meal good enough for anybody.
The night was warm; no fire was needed.
A blanket spread on the grass served as a resting-place for Alice; the strange youth in scarlet lay with his head resting against the side of his horse. The least movement of the animal, he said, would arouse him; he was keen of scent and quick to detect danger—meaning the horse.