Still she knew she must have little to fear from him.

He had been kind to her.
Why had this scourge of the mountain-desert spared her?
Was it to track down Pierre?
It was at this time that she heard the purl and whisper of running water, a sound dear to the hearts of all travelers.

She veered to the left and found the little grove of trees with a thick shrubbery growing between, fed by the water of that diminutive brook.

She dismounted and tethered the horses.
By this time she had seen enough of camping out to know how to make herself fairly comfortable, and she set about it methodically, eagerly.

It was something to occupy her mind and keep out a little of that burning sense of shame.