Beth Norvell

"No, no, señorita," she said softly. "Not dat; not because he lofe me;

because he ask me dat. Si, I make him not so sorry."

She remembered that vast overhanging rock about which the dim trail

circled as it swept upward toward where the "Little Yankee" perched

against the sky-line. Undaunted by the narrowness of the ledge, the

willing, sure-footed mustang began climbing the steep grade. Step by

step they crept up, cautiously advancing from out the bottom of the

cleft, the path followed winding in and out among bewildering cedars,

and skirting unknown depths of ravines. Mercedes was breathing

heavily, her unoccupied hand grasping the trailing skirt which

interfered with her climbing. Miss Norvell, from her higher perch on

the pony's back, glanced behind apprehensively. Far away to the east a

faint, uncertain tinge of gray was shading into the sky. Suddenly a

detached stone rattled in their front; there echoed the sharp click of

a rifle hammer, mingled with the sound of a gruff, unfamiliar voice: "You come another step, an' I 'll blow hell out o' yer. Sabe?"

It all occurred so quickly that neither spoke; they caught their breath

and waited in suspense. A shadow, dim, ill-defined, seemed to take

partial form in their front.

"Well, can't yer speak?" questioned the same voice, growlingly. "What

yer doin' on this yere trail?"

Mercedes released the pony's bit, and leaned eagerly forward.

"Vas dat you, Beell Heeks?" she questioned, doubtfully.

The man swore, the butt of his quickly lowered rifle striking sharply

against the rock at his feet.

"I 'm damned if it ain't that Mexican agin," he exclaimed, angrily.

"Now, you get out o' yere; you hear me? I 'm blamed if I kin shoot at

no female, but you got in one measly spyin' job on this outfit, an' I

'll not put up with another if I have ter pitch ye out inter the

canyon. So you git plum out o' yere, an' tell yer friend Farnham he

better take more care o' his females, or some of 'em are liable ter get

hurt."

There was the harsh crunch of a footstep in the darkness, another

figure suddenly slid down the smooth surface of rock, dropping almost

at the pony's head. The animal shied with a quick leap, but a heavy

hand held him captive.

"Y-you sh-sh-shut up, B-Bill," and the huge form of Stutter Brown

loomed up directly between them, and that menacing rifle. "I-I reckon

as how I'll t-t-take a h-hand in this yere g-g-game. Sh-she ain't no

s-spy fer Farnham, er I 'm a l-l-liar." He touched her softly with his

great hand, bending down to look into her face, half hidden beneath the

ruffled black hair. "C-come, little g-g-girl, what's up?"

She made no response, her lips faltering as though suddenly stricken

dumb. Beth Norvell dropped down from the pony's back, and stood with

one hand resting on Mercedes' shoulder.