In those first moments, as Hilda lay there in a sort of daze, she entirely forgot the errand that had brought her out here in such a fury of eagerness. All she could see was Pearse, going past the Sorrows gate—missing her. Oh—why had she come? Somebody was lifting her into a more comfortable position against the bedding roll. The big man drew the dripping handkerchief again and again across her face; then dipped hands and wrists into the basin itself. “You’re all right now,” he repeated. “You’re not hurt.” Her eyes opened in a quick look about her and fixed upon his face. “Colonel Marchbanks?” “Yes, that’s my name,” he said. “Were you looking for me? What’s the matter?” Hilda’s gasping had moderated. She drew in as much breath as she was able and spoke clearly: “An outfit came in this morning after your cattle—” “What outfit?” “I don’t know. They came in this morning. They cut our fence and made Uncle Hank begin work right away.” Marchbanks bent forward sharply, Tarpy, the cook, beside him. The two boys who had brought the bedding roll leaned frankly over the others’ shoulders. “Uncle Hank—they didn’t act right—he sent me here. We thought, when they wouldn’t road-brand—” “You’re a good girl,” said the colonel; “I’ll thank you later.” Then he stood up, ordering: “Get the hobbles off the best horses. Every man saddle his own. All come with me but Tarpy and Slim. Tarpy,” he spoke in a lower tone to the cook, “you stay with the little girl. If she gets able to go back home and wants to [Hilda tried to say, ‘I do,’ but no sound came], have Slim put her saddle on my sorrel, and ride over, easy, with her.” Then he turned to question her again: “How big an outfit is it? What do they look like?” Hilda answered in little, broken sentences: “Six of them—and a chuck-wagon. But they had so many guns. He’s very young—almost a boy.” The colonel was buckling his cartridge belt; he whirled and looked at her, demanding: “Which one is that you’re speaking of?” “The one that rode right beside the man that called himself Colonel Marchbanks. He looked like— We all took him for—” The real Colonel Marchbanks glanced to where his men were getting on their ponies. He waved to them to ride on, and they whirled away in a cloud of dust. Then, bracing hands on knees, he bent down and prompted: “You took him for—?” “Your son.” The colonel straightened up without a word, ran to his pony, flung himself upon it, and was off after the others. She rested, with closed eyes, glad to be let alone. Presently she heard Slim’s voice, in guarded tones: “Ye took notice what the little girl said. That’s Fayte, all right.” There was silence for a few minutes, then Slim spoke again: “Sort of sorry for the colonel.” “Yeah,” assented Tarpy. “G’wan an’ round up them horses, Slim, and have ’em all saddled an’ ready time she’s had this coffee. She’s game; you’ll git over, mebbe, in time to git a look-in at the festivities—or the funeral—after all.”