Then in the interval of silence that came between the calling of those wild creatures there stole a sound. She could not tell at first what it was. A slow, regular, plodding sound, and quite far away. She looked to find it, and thought she saw a shape move out of the sage-brush on the other side of the track, but she could not be sure. It might be but a figment of her brain, a foolish fancy from looking so long at the huddled bushes on the dark plain. Yet something prompted her to cry out, and when she heard her own voice she cried again and louder, wondering why she had not cried before.
"Help! Help!" she called; and again: "Help! Help!"
The dark shape paused and turned toward her. She was sure now. What if it were a beast instead of a human! Terrible fear took possession of her; then, to her infinite relief, a nasal voice sounded out:
"Who's thar?"
But when she opened her lips to answer, nothing but a sob would come to them for a minute, and then she could only cry, pitifully:
"Help! Help!"
"Whar be you?" twanged the voice; and now she could see a horse and rider like a shadow moving toward her down the track.