The situation was so absurd and a little tiresome. However, Bettina realized she had brought it on herself, though this is but small consolation in adversity.
Alone, Bettina walked more slowly. After all, was she as sure-footed as she had presumed? There was comfort in the idea that, as soon as her burro rejoined the others, they would find out she had disappeared and wait until she came up to them.
Bettina did not realize that, hearing her burro jogging on behind at an even pace, the girls naturally believed she was riding him. One could not easily look behind during such an ascent.
Mr. Simpson, in front, also failed to miss Bettina for about five minutes. The time could not have been longer than that. Until then, glancing back of him he could see the three burros, but of the riders only Peggy who rode next him. And he heard no cry of any kind.
Finally they reached a broader space—a kind of small plateau where there was a wonderful view of the river and of the giant depression to the northwest that cradled the famous Painted Desert.
“Suppose we rest for a moment,” Mr. Simpson called back.
Stepping off his broncho, for his legs almost touched the ground as he rode, Mr. Simpson turned to Peggy. Then, in a flash he discovered the third burro stopping quietly when the others did, but without a rider.
“Miss Graham has chosen to walk up the trail; I’ll go and see if I can help,” he said hastily. And before Peggy and Vera were fully aware of Bettina’s disappearance, their guide had started down again.
“Tiresome of Bettina. Why did she not tell us if she meant to dismount?” Peggy said irritably. She was not nervous, but the trail was a winding one, and she could not yet see Bettina climbing up toward them. They must, in a few moments, of course.
They waited five moments; then ten. At the end of fifteen minutes Mr. Simpson returned.