straighten she thought every bone in her body was broken. She sat on her bed and combed her hair, and slyly cleaned her sunburned face with cold cream. Over the edge of rock she spotted Randolph, brisk and whistling round the campfire. Whistling! Janey listened while she put on her shoes. Then she got to her knees. Never had she had so many sore muscles. The arm Randolph had wrenched was the worst.
"Hey, down there," called Janey. "What was the name of that robber baron who ran off with Mary Tudor?"
Randolph stared up at her, almost laughing.
"Bothwell, I believe," he replied, constrainedly.
"Well, good morning, Mr. Bothwell," added Janey.
He returned her greeting with the air of a man who had almost forgotten something unpleasant. He did not whistle any more, and eyed Janey dubiously as she limped and crawled down the slope to a level.
"How are the eats?" she asked, brightly. "I was just about to call you," he said.
"Breakfast will be ready soon as the coffee boils."
"What kind of a day is it going to be?"
"Bad, I fear. It's let up raining, but I think there'll be more."
"Gee, how sore I am! You nearly broke my arm. And that slabstone bed finished me."
"I hope the internal injury is better," he rejoined dryly.
"Oh, that. I guess that was hunger, or else a terrible pang of disappointment to find you such a monster... Call me when you're ready to give me something to eat."
Janey walked about to stretch her limbs. The overhanging sky was leaden and gray, except where a pale brightness had succeeded the ruddy sunrise. She heard a roar down in the canyon and concluded it was running water. Little muddy streams were coursing down the shallow ditches. Beyond the cliff she saw water in sheets running off the rocks above. The cedars were green and fresh; and the sage had an exquisite hue of purple. Janey ventured to the edge of the cedar grove; and saw down into the canyon where a red torrent swirled and splashed. She recalled hearing the trader tell of sudden floods pouring down the dry washes. This was one of them; and she understood now why heavy storms impeded desert travel.
A shout turned Janey's footsteps camp-ward. Randolph had breakfast ready, and it was equally as appetizing as the supper the night before.
"Evidently you're not going to starve me into submission, anyway," she observed.
"I don't know about submission, but you'll be starved into something, all right," he declared.
"Do we have to cross this canyon?"
"We do, and pronto, or we won't cross at all."
"Why, there's a regular torrent."
"Not bad yet."
"Then we must hurry?"
"Yes. If we rustle along--and are lucky--we may make Beckyshibeta tonight."
Not for anything would Janey have importuned Randolph to turn back. But the serious nature of desert travel under unfavorable conditions now dawned upon her; and her mood of levity suffered a sidetracking. She had no more to say. Hurrying through breakfast she proceeded to assist Randolph with the camp chores. He objected, but she paid no attention to him.
"Where are the horses?" she asked, suddenly.
"They'll be near somewhere. They're hobbled, you know, and wouldn't stray from good grass. I'll fetch them in."
He was absent so long that Janey began to worry. At last he showed up, riding his horse bareback, and leading the other two. Surefoot looked fat. Janey undertook the job of saddling him. As she swung up the heavy saddle she observed Randolph watching her out of the corner of his eye. When her horse was ready she turned to Randolph. He was loading the pack animal. Janey had watched the cowboys throw what they called the diamond hitch--an intricate figure-eight knot that held the pack on--and she now saw Randolph was as expert as any of them. Nevertheless some assistance from her was welcome to him. He made only one remark, which concerned the way she pulled on the rope. When the pack was on tight Randolph saddled his own horse.
"I've left my chaps out for you to wear," he said, indicating a pair
"Hey, down there," called Janey. "What was the name of that robber baron who ran off with Mary Tudor?"
Randolph stared up at her, almost laughing.
"Bothwell, I believe," he replied, constrainedly.
"Well, good morning, Mr. Bothwell," added Janey.
He returned her greeting with the air of a man who had almost forgotten something unpleasant. He did not whistle any more, and eyed Janey dubiously as she limped and crawled down the slope to a level.
"How are the eats?" she asked, brightly. "I was just about to call you," he said.
"Breakfast will be ready soon as the coffee boils."
"What kind of a day is it going to be?"
"Bad, I fear. It's let up raining, but I think there'll be more."
"Gee, how sore I am! You nearly broke my arm. And that slabstone bed finished me."
"I hope the internal injury is better," he rejoined dryly.
"Oh, that. I guess that was hunger, or else a terrible pang of disappointment to find you such a monster... Call me when you're ready to give me something to eat."
Janey walked about to stretch her limbs. The overhanging sky was leaden and gray, except where a pale brightness had succeeded the ruddy sunrise. She heard a roar down in the canyon and concluded it was running water. Little muddy streams were coursing down the shallow ditches. Beyond the cliff she saw water in sheets running off the rocks above. The cedars were green and fresh; and the sage had an exquisite hue of purple. Janey ventured to the edge of the cedar grove; and saw down into the canyon where a red torrent swirled and splashed. She recalled hearing the trader tell of sudden floods pouring down the dry washes. This was one of them; and she understood now why heavy storms impeded desert travel.
A shout turned Janey's footsteps camp-ward. Randolph had breakfast ready, and it was equally as appetizing as the supper the night before.
"Evidently you're not going to starve me into submission, anyway," she observed.
"I don't know about submission, but you'll be starved into something, all right," he declared.
"Do we have to cross this canyon?"
"We do, and pronto, or we won't cross at all."
"Why, there's a regular torrent."
"Not bad yet."
"Then we must hurry?"
"Yes. If we rustle along--and are lucky--we may make Beckyshibeta tonight."
Not for anything would Janey have importuned Randolph to turn back. But the serious nature of desert travel under unfavorable conditions now dawned upon her; and her mood of levity suffered a sidetracking. She had no more to say. Hurrying through breakfast she proceeded to assist Randolph with the camp chores. He objected, but she paid no attention to him.
"Where are the horses?" she asked, suddenly.
"They'll be near somewhere. They're hobbled, you know, and wouldn't stray from good grass. I'll fetch them in."
He was absent so long that Janey began to worry. At last he showed up, riding his horse bareback, and leading the other two. Surefoot looked fat. Janey undertook the job of saddling him. As she swung up the heavy saddle she observed Randolph watching her out of the corner of his eye. When her horse was ready she turned to Randolph. He was loading the pack animal. Janey had watched the cowboys throw what they called the diamond hitch--an intricate figure-eight knot that held the pack on--and she now saw Randolph was as expert as any of them. Nevertheless some assistance from her was welcome to him. He made only one remark, which concerned the way she pulled on the rope. When the pack was on tight Randolph saddled his own horse.
"I've left my chaps out for you to wear," he said, indicating a pair
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