For a moment I could only stare at her in bewildered terror. Far from recognizing me, she seemed to be absorbed in a nymph-like contemplation of her own graces in the pool. Then I called “Consuelo!” and galloped frantically around the spring. But there was no response, nor was there anything to be seen but the all-unconscious Chu Chu. The pool, thank Heaven! was not deep enough to have drowned any one; there were no signs of a struggle on its quaggy edges. The horse might have come from a distance! I galloped on, still calling. A few hundred yards further I detected the vivid glow of Chu Chu's scarlet saddle-blanket, in the brush near the trail. My heart leaped--I was on the track. I called again; this time a faint reply, in accents I knew too well, came from the field beside me! Consuelo was there! reclining beside a manzanita bush which screened her from the road, in what struck me, even at that supreme moment, as a judicious and picturesquely selected couch of scented Indian grass and dry tussocks. The velvet hat with its balls of scarlet plush was laid carefully aside; her lovely blue-black hair retained its tight coils undisheveled, her eyes were luminous and tender. Shocked as I was at her apparent helplessness, I remember being impressed with the fact that it gave so little indication of violent usage or disaster. I threw myself frantically on the ground beside her. “You are hurt, Consita! For Heaven's sake, what has happened?” She pushed my hat back with her little hand, and tumbled my hair gently. “Nothing. YOU are here, Pancho--eet is enofe! What shall come after thees--when I am perhaps gone among the grave--make nothing! YOU are here--I am happy. For a little, perhaps--not mooch.” “But,” I went on desperately, “was it an accident? Were you thrown? Was it Chu Chu?”--for somehow, in spite of her languid posture and voice, I could not, even in my fears, believe her seriously hurt. “Beat not the poor beast, Pancho. It is not from HER comes thees thing. She have make nothing--believe me! I have come upon your assignation with Miss Essmith! I make but to pass you--to fly--to never come back! I have say to Chu Chu, 'Fly!' We fly many miles. Sometimes together, sometimes not so mooch! Sometimes in the saddle, sometimes on the neck! Many things remain in the road; at the end, I myself remain! I have say, 'Courage, Pancho will come!' Then I say, 'No, he is talk with Miss Essmith!' I remember not more. I have creep here on the hands. Eet is feenish!” I looked at her distractedly. She smiled tenderly, and slightly smoothed down and rearranged a fold of her dress to cover her delicate little boot. “But,” I protested, “you are not much hurt, dearest. You have broken no bones. Perhaps,” I added, looking at the boot, “only a slight sprain. Let me carry you to my horse; I will walk beside you, home. Do, dearest Consita!”