“Me, the Black Pearl, held cheap!” she muttered and raised her stag-like head superbly, “and by you!  You that pick up women and drop them when you’re tired of them.  Me, the Black Pearl.”  She turned quickly and ran to her waiting horse, loosening the tether with quick, nervous fingers.  Hanson followed her.

“Pearl, you ain’t going to leave me?”

But she was already in the saddle.

He caught at her bridle and held her so.  “Pearl, I made a mistake”—­he was talking wildly, rapidly—­“but you ain’t going to throw me down just for that—­you can’t.  Think how happy we’ve been this last week—­think how we’ve loved each other.  Why, you can’t turn me down, just for one break, you can’t.”

“Can’t I?” she said, her teeth still showing in that unpleasant way.  “Can’t I?  Well—­if you don’t get out of my way I’ll show you what I’ll do.  Slash you across your lying face.”  Her arm was already uplifted, riding crop in hand.  “Let me go!” Her voice was so low that he hardly heard it, but full of a thousand threats.  Then, swerving her horse quickly to one side, she jerked the bridle from his slack fingers and was off across the desert.

CHAPTER VII

It was about an hour after Pearl had ridden away to meet Hanson among the palms that Bob Flick joined Mr. Gallito, who sat, as usual, upon the porch of his home, smoking innumerable cigarrettes.  He was his composed and imperturbable self, exhibiting outwardly, at least, no trace of anxiety, but Flick looked worn, almost haggard.

Gallito had just told him of Pearl’s early departure and also of the fact that she had left no word intimating when she might return or in what direction she was riding; but when Flick expressed regret that this had been permitted, he merely lifted his shaggy brows.  “What is done is done,” he said.  “She slipped away before either Hugh or myself knew that she was gone, and what could we or you, for that matter, have done to prevent her?”

“I wish I’d been here,” muttered Flick uneasily.  “I’d have done something.”  But his tone did not bear out the confidence of his words.

“I am too old and, I hope, too wise,” returned the Spaniard, “to attempt to tame the whirlwind.  But cheer up, my friend.  Although she rode off to meet this Hanson, without a doubt, still, the day is not over.”

“You know what she is when her head is set,” murmured Flick.

“I!  Have I not cause?” exclaimed Gallito, a depth of meaning in his tone.  “Who so much?  But, nevertheless, she has not gone for good.  She would not leave without some of her clothes, especially her dancing dresses and slippers, if she went with him.  And her jewels, oh, certainly, not without her jewels!” he smiled wisely.  “There are, as you know, certain ornaments about which she has her superstitions; she will not dance without her emeralds.  Oh, no, console yourself, as I do.  She has not gone for good.”