B. M. Bower

“ It had occurred to her that a man with stilts strapped on his legs would find it awkward to crawl under a wagon in the dark—and any strong man, heaving up with his bent back, could tilt their camp wagon. She realized now that the imagination is prone to play tricks upon a person whose nerves are strained to the snapping point. Believing the marauder to be Burney, she would of course imagine that it was Burney whom she saw; given the height, the rest would be quite natural.
She would tell Spider that, and make up with him and behave herself. ”

“ She knew then that had Burney faced her sane she would not have feared him—not so much. She would have felt that by sheer will power she could dominate over even his bigness. But a crazy man could not be dominated by anything save superior force. She climbed and climbed, and never stopped for breath. And she heard him knocking rocks loose, down there below, as he lunged up the cañon wall after her.
With a dry sob of thankfulness she topped a low, mossy ledge, and stood upon comparatively level ground; rough enough to prevent swift flight, but after that terrible climb looking smooth and safe. ”

“ Had she not been afraid to do so, she would have turned then and ridden back to find Spider. She would have borne any repulse and reproach, and would have been glad just because he was there with her, close enough to scold her and tell her—politely, of course—what a fool she had been to leave him. But she was afraid. Nothing could induce her to turn and ride back down the gulch. She struck her pony sharply with the quirt and went on, clattering over the rocks in a way to rouse the echoes and let them clamor her whereabouts to any one within a quarter of a mile. ”