“You’re very good.”

Then he turned his face away.  Lucy looked closely at him.  He was indeed a beggared rider.  His clothes and his boots hung in tatters.  He had no hat, no coat, no vest.  His gaunt face bore traces of what might have been a fine, strong comeliness, but now it was only thin, worn, wan, pitiful, with that look which always went to a woman’s heart.  He had the look of a homeless rider.  Lucy had seen a few of his wandering type, and his story was so plain.  But he seemed to have a touch of pride, and this quickened her interest.

“Then I’ll do what I think best for you,” said Lucy.

First she unsaddled the black Nagger.  With the saddle she made a pillow for the rider’s head, and she covered him with the saddle blanket.  Before she had finished this task he turned his eyes upon her.  And Lucy felt she would be haunted.  Was he badly hurt, after all?  It seemed probable.  How strange he was!

“I’ll water the horses—­then tie Wildfire here on a double rope.  There’s grass.”

“But you can’t lead him,” replied the rider.

“He’ll follow me.”

“That red devil!” The rider shuddered as he spoke.

Lucy had some faint inkling of what a terrible fight that had been between man and horse.  “Yes; when I found him he was broken.  Look at him now.”

But the rider did not appear to want to see the stallion.  He gazed up at Lucy, and she saw something in his eyes that made her think of a child.  She left him, had no trouble in watering the horses, and haltered Wildfire among the willows on a patch of grass.  Then she returned.

“I’ll go now,” she said to the rider.

“Where?”

“Home.  I’ll come back to-morrow, early, and bring some one to help you—­”

“Girl, if you want to help me more—­bring me some bread an’ meat.  Don’t tell any one.  Look what a ragamuffin I am. . . .  An’ there’s Wildfire.  I don’t want him seen till I’m—­on my feet again.  I know riders. . . .  That’s all.  If you want to be so good—­come.”

“I’ll come,” replied Lucy, simply.

“Thank you.  I owe you—­a lot. . . .  What did you say your name was?”

“Lucy—­Lucy Bostil.”

“Oh, I forgot. . . .  Are you sure you tied Wildfire good an’ tight?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  I’ll go now.  I hope you’ll be better to-morrow.”

Lucy hesitated, with her hand on the King’s bridle.  She did not like to leave this young man lying there helpless on the desert.  But what else could she do?  What a strange adventure had befallen her!  At the following thought that it was not yet concluded she felt a little stir of excitement at her pulses.  She was so strangely preoccupied that she forgot it was necessary for her to have a step to mount Sage King.  She realized it quickly enough when she attempted it.  Then she led him off in the sage till she found a rock.  Mounting, she turned him straight across country, meaning to cut out miles of travel that would have been necessary along her back-trail.  Once she looked back.  The rider was not visible; the black horse, Nagger, was out of sight, but Wildfire, blazing in the sun, watched her depart.