‘Hell of a trip, huh?’ grunted the man. ‘Well, here’s where I leave yuh.’
He pointed up the slope. ‘About half a mile up thataway yuh strike the road. Turn left for Mesa City.’
Nan dismounted and stood beside Rex, while the masked man mounted his horse.
‘I’d like to thank you,’ she said.
‘Yuh don’t need to. Yore sweetheart shore looks fagged, don’t he? You ain’t a very good picker, ma’am. Them shoes he’s wearin’ wasn’t built f’r Coyote Cañon. Good luck to yuh. I don’t sabe women—not a-tall. So long.’
He spurred his horse to a gallop, and soon disappeared, traveling south. Nan and Rex looked foolishly at each other. Rex’s shoes were ready to fall off his feet, which were bleeding. Nan was a little better off, because she had ridden the horse, but her face was drawn from suffering and lack of food.
‘We’ve got to walk home,’ she said. Rex nodded, shifting his feet painfully, and they started toward the road.
Rex was game. Every step was torture, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. They were both staggering before they reached the road, and Rex was laughing foolishly as they sat down to gain a little strength before attempting the steep grades.
‘I haven’t any feeling,’ said Rex weakly. ‘My legs and arms belong to some one else, I think.’
‘And your feet are all blood, Rex.’