“I ran a cactus into my foot. And I didn't say anything about crying.” “Then if your foot is hurt you will want to ride. That seventeen miles might be too long a stroll before you get through with it.” “I don't know what I'll do yet,” she answered shortly. “I know what you'll do.” “Yes?” “You'll quit your foolishness and get on this hawss.” She flushed angrily. “I won't!” He stooped down, gathered her up in his arms, and lifted her to the saddle. “That's what you're going to do whether you like it or not,” he informed her. “How are you going to make me stay here, now you have put me here?” “I'm going to get on behind and hold you if it's necessary.” He was sensible enough of the folly of it all, but he did not see what else he could do. She had chosen to punish him through herself in a way that was impossible. It was a childish thing to do, born of some touch of hysteria her experience had induced, and he could only treat her as a child till she was safely back in civilization. Their wills met in their eyes, and the man's, masculine and dominant, won the battle. The long fringe of hers fell to the soft cheeks. “It won't be at all necessary,” she promised. “Are you sure?” “Quite sure.” “That's the way to talk.” “If you care to know,” she boiled over, “I think you the most hateful man I ever met.” “That's all right,” he grinned ruefully. “You're the most contrary woman I ever bumped into, so I reckon honors are easy.” He strode along beside the horse, mile after mile, in a silence which neither of them cared to break. The sap of youth flowed free in him, was in his elastic tread, in the set of his broad shoulders, in the carriage of his small, well-shaped head. He was as lean-loined and lithe as a panther, and his stride ate up the miles as easily. They nooned at a spring in the dry wash of Bronco Creek. After he had unsaddled and picketed he condescended to explain to her. “We'll stay here three hours or mebbe four through the heat of the day.” “Is it far now?” she asked wearily. “Not more than seven miles I should judge. Are you about all in?” “Oh, no! I'm all right, thank you,” she said, with forced sprightliness. His shrewd, hard gaze went over her and knew better. “You lie down under those live-oaks and I'll get some grub ready.” “I'll cook lunch while you lie down. You must be tired walking so far through the sun,” said Miss Kinney. “Have I got to pick you up again and carry you there?” “No, you haven't. You keep your hands off me,” she flashed. But nevertheless she betook herself to the shade of the live-oaks and lay down. When he went to call her for lunch he found her fast asleep with her head pillowed on her arm. She looked so haggard that he had not the heart to rouse her.