With a start she came out of her reverie, and straightening up in the saddle began to wonder at the time of day. Unheeded miles had passed under Mauchacho’s hoofs, and the slanting sun told her that the hour was late. “Really, the boys ought to be coming soon. I am sure—that is, I feel almost certain this is the right place. Still, it seems so far back to the last ranch! Oh, well, I’ll just let Mauchacho nibble, and I’ll take a look around that bunch of thorn-apple shrubs.” She began to sing softly and confidently as she loosened the cinch and pulled the saddle and blanket off the horse’s wet back. He shook himself with a grunt of satisfaction and began at once to seek out the most tender grasses. “Be a good boy till I come back, won’t you?” Bess gave him a sounding slap on his wet shoulder that caused him to lift his tail with a “please-don’t-bother-me” flirt. The sun was fervent and Bess walked hurriedly on to reach the shade of the thorns. She reached up and plucked some of the plump, ripe, red thorn-apples, and enjoyed munching them as she wandered idly on. Far ahead of her she discerned, by shading her eyes with her hand, a large herd of cattle. At first she could not tell if they were being driven or whether they were simply eating. As they created no clouds of dust nor seemed to be coming any nearer she decided it could not be the cattle she expected to meet being driven by her brother and Henry. Just then there flashed across her mind an almost forgotten warning which Henry West had given her. Here she was, almost upon a herd of wild cattle all alone and off her horse! Had he not told her how their curiosity was excited by seeing persons afoot with often disastrous results, and warned her to be sure and stay in the saddle if she were near any of the grazing herds. Filled with sudden alarm at her temerity she hurriedly retraced her steps, only to be horrified to realize that she could not tell where to go. The clumps of brush now looked all alike and seemed only to be a confused mass of limbs and leaves. There was the declining sun towards which she had advanced, so now she must retreat in the opposite direction. Yes, but should she turn to the right or the left? For a moment she stood trying to collect her bewildered senses. She took her sombrero from her dishevelled hair and gave a frightened scream as her finger-tips came in contact with the rattles which still adorned the band. “Oh, I just can’t bear those horrid things any longer,” she cried and with a stick began to tear her trophy off. She had not succeeded, however, when her attention was attracted by a horseman riding far to the left of her. How madly he was riding, bending low over his horse till they seemed like one! Bess watched the rider as he rode on swiftly, then swerved to the left, then back again. He was so indistinct in the hazy distance that she could not tell whether he rode like an Indian or a white man.