Beth Norvell

Old Hicks lay flat under protection of the ore-dump, his ear pressed

close to the earth, his contracted eyes searching anxiously those dark

hollows in front, a Winchester, cocked and ready, within the grasp of

his hand. Above, Irish Mike, sniffing the air as though he could smell

danger like a pointer dog, hung far out across the parapet of rock,

every eager nerve tingling in the hope of coming battle. Winston

remained in the cabin door, behind him the open room black and silent,

his loaded Winchester between his feet, gamely struggling to overcome a

vague foreboding of impending trouble, yet alert and ready to bear his

part. It was then that Stutter Brown led the saddled pony forward from

out the concealment of bushes. The long awaited moment had come for

action. To his whispered word, Mercedes fluttered promptly forth

through the shadowed doorway, and pressed her face lovingly against the

pony's quickly uplifted nose.

"See," she whispered, patting Brown's brawny arm even while she

continued toying playfully with the silken mane, "he know me, he lofe

me. He bettah as any man, for he nevah tell lie,--nevah,--only be nice

all de time. He ride me till he drop dead, swift, quick, like de bird

fly. So I make eet all right, señor. You see ven de daylight come I

be San Juan. Den I make mooch fun for de Señor Farnham--sure I do."

"I-I reckon you 'll m-make it all right, l-l-little girl," answered the

man regretfully, his voice hushed to a low growl, "b-but jest the same

I a-ain't so darn g-g-glad ter l-let yer go. H-hanged ef I would,

either, if I d-did n't th-think the toughest part o' it wus g-goin' ter

be right yere."

She glanced almost shyly up into his shadowed face, her black eyes like

stars.

"Si--dat vas eet. I vas de coward; I just runs avay so 'fraid of de

fight. I no like de fight von leetle bit. But I know you, señor; you

vant to stay here, an' have de fun. You Americano an' like dat ver'

mooch. I feel of de big arm, so, an' I know eet ees bettah dat you be

here. I mooch like please you, señor."

He clasped her hand where it rested small and white against his sleeve,

hiding it completely within his own great fist; when he spoke she could

mark the tremble in the deep voice.

"Y-you 're a m-mighty fine girl," he managed to say, simply, "but we

g-got ter go now. I-I reckon yer b-b-better walk fer a ways, as the

p-pony will step lighter."

"I not care, señor," softly. "Eet be nice to valk; I nevah 'fraid vid

you."

Brown led the way forward cautiously across the open space, one strong

hand firm on the pony's bit, the other barely touching her dress as

though it were something sacred. She endeavored to discern his face in

the faint starlight, but the low-drawn hat brim shaded it into black

lines, revealing nothing. The light, easy words she sought to speak,

hoping thus to keep him from more serious talk, would not come to her

lips. There was so much of silence and mystery on every side, so much

of doubt in this venture, that, in spite of her gay manner, every nerve

tingled with excitement. Glancing up at him she bit her lips in

embarrassment. It was Stutter who finally found voice, his mind

drifting back to what she had lately said in carelessness.