"A girl! ... Why—why 'scuse me, miss. I—I took you—for a boy."
He seemed so astounded, he looked so ashamed, so scared, and withal, so haggard and weak, that Lucy immediately recovered her equanimity.
"Sure I'm a girl. But that's no matter.... You've been thrown. Are you hurt?"
He smiled a weak assent.
"Badly?" she queried. She did not like the way he lay—so limp, so motionless.
"I'm afraid so. I can't move."
"Oh! ... What shall I do?"
"Can you—get me water?" he whispered, with dry lips.
Lucy flew to her horse to get the small canteen she always carried. But that had been left on her saddle, and she had ridden Van's. Then she gazed around. The wash she had crossed several times ran near where the rider lay. Green grass and willows bordered it. She ran down and, hurrying along, searched for water. There was water in places, yet she had to go a long way before she found water that was drinkable. Filling her sombrero, she hurried back to the side of the rider. It was difficult to give him a drink.
"Thanks, miss," he said, gratefully. His voice was stronger and less hoarse.