She seemed to be thinking hard and fast, and she hesitated even while she spoke.

Ford wondered at the latent antagonism in her manner.
"I was crying because my foot hurts so and because I don't see how I'm going to get back to the ranch.

I suppose they'll hunt me up if I stay away long enough--but it's getting toward night, and--I'm scared to death of coyotes, if you must know!" Ford laughed--at her defiance, in the face of her absolute helplessness, more than at what she said.

"And you tell me you don't need any help ?" he bantered.
"I might borrow your horse," she suggested coldly, as if she grudged yielding even that much to circumstance.

"Or you might catch mine for me, I suppose." "Sure.