But if it were Quintana or another of his people she could not tell. And, again looking down, she began again the terrible descent.
* * * * *
An hour later, Trooper Stormont of the State Constabulary, sat his horse in amazement to see a ragged, breathless, boyish figure speeding toward him among the tamaracks, her naked feet splashing through pool and mire and sphagnum.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed as she flung herself against his stirrup, sobbing, hysterical, and clinging to his knee.
"Take me back," she stammered, "-- take me back to daddy! I can't -- go on -- another step----"
He leaned down, swung her up to his saddle in front, holding her cradled in his arms.
"Lie still," he said coolly; "you're all right now."
For another second he sat looking down at her, at the dishevelled hair, the gasping mouth, -- at the rags clothing her, and at the flat packet clasped to her breast.
Then he spoke in a low voice to his horse, guiding left with one knee.