The foot was rubbed, he having drawn off the stocking with as much delicacy as he had exhibited in taking off the boot. And then while Randerson considerately withdrew under pretense of looking at Patches, the stocking was put on again. When he came back it was to be met with a request: "Won't you please find my pony and bring him back?" "Why, sure, ma'am." He started again for Patches, but halted and looked back at her. "You won't be scared again?" "No," she said. And then: "But you'll hurry, won't you?" "I reckon." He was in the saddle quickly, loping Patches to the crest of a hill near by in hopes of getting a view of the recreant pony. He got a glimpse of it, far back on the plains near some timber, and he was about to shout the news to Ruth, who was watching him intently, when he thought better of the notion and shut his lips. Urging Patches forward, he rode toward Ruth's pony at a moderate pace. Three times during the ride he looked back. Twice he was able to see Ruth, but the third time he had swerved so that some bushes concealed him from her. He was forced to swerve still further to come up with the pony, and he noted that Ruth would never have been able to see her pony from her position. It was more than a mile to where the animal stood, and curiously, as though to make amends for his previous bad behavior to Ruth, he came trotting forward to Randerson, whinnying gently. Randerson seized the bridle, and grinned at the animal. "I reckon I ought to lam you a-plenty, you miserable deserter," he said severely, "runnin' away from your mistress that-a-way. Is that the way for a respectable horse to do? You've got her all nervous an' upset--an' she sure roasted me. Do you reckon there's any punishment that'd fit what you done? Well, I reckon! You come along with me!" Leading the animal, he rode Patches to the edge of the timber. There, unbuckling one end of the reins from the bit ring, he doubled them, passed them through a gnarled root, made a firm knot and left the pony tied securely. Then he rode off and looked back, grinning. "You're lost, you sufferin' runaway. Only you don't know it." He loped Patches away and made a wide detour of the mesa, making sure that he appeared often on the sky line, so that he would be seen by Ruth. At the end of half an hour he rode back to where the girl was standing, watching him. He dismounted and approached her, standing before her, his expression one of grave worry. "That outlaw of yours ain't anywhere in sight, ma'am," he said. "I reckon he's stampeded back to the ranchhouse. You sure you ain't seen him go past here?" "No," she said, "unless he went way around, just after it got dark." "I reckon that's what he must have done. Some horses is plumb mean. But you can't walk, you know," he added after a silence; "I reckon you'll have to ride Patches." "You would have to walk, then," she objected. "And that wouldn't be fair!"