“Yes’m.  My father was a mining man, and he done well over there until he locked horns with the Guadalupes.  Old Don Enrique and him had a run-in at the finish, over some land or something.  It was when the Don was gobbling all the property in the state, and laying the foundation for his big fortune.  You know he had permission from the president to steal all the land he cared to, just like the rest of those local governors had.  Well, Guadalupe tried to run my people out.”

“Did he succeed?”

“No’m.  He killed ’em, but they stayed.”

“Not—­really?” The listener was shocked.  “American citizens, too?”

“Times wasn’t much different then than now.  There’s plenty of good Americans been killed in Mexico and nothing done about it, even in our day.  I don’t know all the details—­never could get ’em, either—­for I was away at school; but after I came back from the Philippines the Madero fuss was just brewing, so I went over and joined it.  But it didn’t last long, and there wasn’t enough fighting to suit me.  I’ve been back, off and on, since, and I’ve burned a good deal of Guadalupe property and swum a good many head of Guadalupe stock.”

As the morning progressed Law proved himself an interesting companion, and in spite of the discomforts of the situation the hours slipped past rapidly.  Luncheon was a disagreeable meal, eaten while the arroyo baked and the heat devils danced on the hills; but the unpleasantness was of brief duration, and Law always managed to banish boredom.  Nor did he seem to waste a thought upon the nature of that grim business which brought him to this place.  Quite the contrary, in the afternoon he put his mare through her tricks for Alaire’s edification, and gossiped idly of whatever interested his guest.

Then as the sun edged to the west and Mrs. Austin became restless, he saddled Bessie Belle and led her down the gulch into a safer covert.

Returning, he carefully obliterated all traces of the camp.  He watered the ashes of the fire, gathered up the tell-tale scraps of paper and fragments of food, and then when the place suited him fell to examining his rifle.

Alaire watched him with interest.  “Where shall I go,” she asked, “and what shall I do?”

“You just pick out a good cover beyond the water-hole and stay there, ma’am.  It may be a long wait, for something may have happened.  If so we’ll have to lie close.  And don’t worry yourself none, ma’am; he won’t make no trouble.”

The afternoon drew to a close.  Gradually the blinding white glare of the sun lessened and yellowed, the shadow of the bluffs began to stretch out.  The shallow pool lay silent, deserted save for furtive little shapes that darted nervously out of the leaves, or for winged visitors that dropped out of the air.

With the sunset there came the sound of hoofs upon loose stones, branches rustled against breasting bodies, and Mrs. Austin cowered low in her hiding-place.  But it was only the advance-guard of a bunch of brush cattle coming to water.  They paused at a distance, and nothing except their thirst finally overcame their suspicions.  One by one they drifted into sight, drank warily at the remotest edge of the tanque, then, alarmed at some imaginary sight or sound, went clattering up the ravine.