If she rode east she would come eventually to the road along which she had walked from Echo, Idaho.

Lorraine had had enough of that road.

If she went north she would--well, she would not meet Mr.Lone Morgan again, for she had tried it twice, and had turned back because there seemed no end to the trail twisting through the sage and rocks.

West she had not gone, but she had no doubt that it would be the same dreary monotony of dull gray landscape.
Monotony of landscape was one thing which Lorraine could not endure, unless it had a foreground of riders hurtling here and there, and of perspiring men around a camera tripod.

At the Sawtooth ranch, after she was able to be up, she had seen cowboys, but they had lacked the dash and the picturesque costuming of the West she knew.