The roots penetrated deeper than she had supposed and in her interest she forgot her precarious footing and pulled hard.

The plant gave way unexpectedly, and losing her balance, Linda plunged down the side of the canyon catching wildly at shrubs and bushes and bruising herself severely on stones, finally landing in a sitting posture on the road that traversed the canyon.
She was not seriously hurt, but she did not present a picturesque figure as she sprawled in the road, her booted feet thrust straight before her, one of her long black braids caught on a bush at her back, her blouse pulled above her breeches, the contents of her knapsack decorating the canyon side and the road around her; but high in one hand, without break or blemish, she triumphantly held aloft the rare Cotyledon.

She shrugged her shoulders, wiggled her toes, and moved her arms to assure herself that no bones were broken; then she glanced at her drawings and the fruits of her day's collecting scattered on the roadside around her.

She was in the act of rising when a motor car containing two young men shot around a curve of the canyon, swerved to avoid running over her, and stopped as abruptly as possible.
"It's a girl!" cried the driver, and both men sprang to the road and hurried to Linda's assistance.

Her dark cheeks were red with mortification, but she managed to recover her feet and tuck in her blouse before they reached her.
"We heard you coming down," said the elder of the young men, "and we thought you might be a bear.