"Kid! dear Kid! forgive me! Come back and help us!" shrieked the girl. He kept on down along the canyon rim, his chin sunk on his breast, his downstretched hands bent like claws. She ran a little way after him; only to flutter back again, wringing her hands, distracted. "What shall we do? what shall we do?" "Be quiet, dear--be quiet!" urged Genevieve. "You've driven him away. We must do the best we can. You must go yourself. I can stay and watch--" "No, no!" cried Isobel. "The way he looked at Lafe!--I dare not go! He may come back--and I not here!" She knelt to place her trembling hand on Ashton's forehead. Genevieve looked at the setting sun. "There is no time to lose," she said. "Saddle my horse while I nurse Baby. I cannot take him with me down the mountain, in the dark." "Genevieve! You dare go--at night?" "Someone must bring help, else Tom--all alone down in that dreadful chasm--!" "But you may lose the way! I will go!" "No, no, you must stay, Belle. I saw his eyes. He may come back. I could not protect Lafayette, but you--There is no other way. I must leave Baby, and go." Wondering at the courage of the young mother, Isobel ran to saddle the oldest of the picketed horses. He was the slowest of them all, but he was surefooted and steady and very wise. When she brought him down the ridge, Genevieve placed the newly fed baby in her arms and went with the glasses to peer down the sheer precipices. There in the blackness so far beneath her the glowing fire illuminated an outstretched form. It was her husband, lying flat on his back and gazing up at the heights. Almost she could fancy that he saw her as she saw him. But she did not linger. Time was too precious. She dropped him a kiss, and ran to spring upon the waiting pony. She did not pause even to kiss the big-eyed baby. The thirsty pony needed no urging to start at a lively jog up the slope of the first ridge. As he topped the crest and broke into a lope the sun dipped below the western edge of High Mesa. A few seconds later horse and rider disappeared from Isobel's anxious gaze down the far side of the ridge. "Old Buck knows the trail," murmured the girl. "He knows he is headed for the waterhole. Yet if--if he _should_ lose the trail!" A spasm of fear sent her hand to the pistol hilt under the fold of her skirt and twisted her head about. She glared along the canyon rim. Gowan was still striding away from her. She watched him fixedly, her hand clutched fast on the hilt of her pistol, until he disappeared around a mass of rocks. The whinnying of the horses after their companion at last drew her attention. They had not been watered since the previous evening. Cuddling close the frightened baby, the girl fetched a basin and one of the water cans, to sponge out the dusty nostrils of the animals and give each two or three swallows.