The big horse followed obediently in the pinto’s every footstep, which was a good thing, for he would not lead on a rope. Raquel had already tried that and found he pulled back. When they were nearly across, Raquel looked back to see if Lois was all right. She was clinging with one hand to the pommel while the other was thrown back over her tightly closed eyes. Her face was white as death. Raquel would have gone to her side, but the crossing was fraught with too much possible danger to take her attention from it for an instant. The soluble, slippery, red soil, the shifting sand of that country, is too treacherous ever to rely upon. Suddenly in the center of the stream the pinto sank down above his flanks, rose up with a fine effort of splendid muscles and, bounding clear of the bottom, began to swim toward the main current. In a moment he was shaking himself nonchalantly on a firm bit of beach. But Lois’ horse stood up to his knees on the far side, refusing to budge. So Raquel had to put Paintbrush across again, which she did easily a bit further up. Lois was transferred to his back and he seemed to realize that he must carry her safely across. Raquel had no trouble in guiding the big brown, though he floundered dangerously for a few minutes. Ahead of her the pinto swam with Lois bent over the saddle, and then he leaped violently clear of the shaky sands beneath him. Raquel’s heart was in her mouth for fear that Lois, wavering in the saddle, would fall off. But they came through safely, and mounted the long dune opposite the river, to see a sandy desert stretching before them, rosy in the setting sun. “Raquel, Raquel,” begged Lois. “Let me get off. I can’t do these things. Oh, leave me behind then, if you must go on. I’d rather die.” “Lois! Hush!” Raquel spoke sternly. “You _can_ do it. You _did_ do it already, and it is easy riding now across the desert,” she added relenting. As the pinto was too quick in movement for Lois, Raquel changed back to her own _compadre_. The stars were out; the night had fallen as softly and quietly as a velvet leaf; the little moon rode higher and higher. Behind them the dark vegetation along the river served as a guide to Raquel, and ahead were two dark spots that she tried to keep in position. “Raquel,” Lois said after a while, “please talk to me. Are we to ride all--all night?” “Oh, I was thinking,” Raquel answered, contritely. “I was thinking about Georgie, my brother. I don’t know where he is. I hope he’ll be at El Escondido when we get there. “Why, no, Lois, we don’t need to ride all night, my dear, but we must get _nearly_ across this mesa tonight.” “Yes, I know you must be worried about your brother,” Lois faltered. “I am, too.”