Valencia, her white lips pressed tightly together, gave no answer.  She was thinking.

“I hate Pablo.  He is wicked.  I will never speak to him again,” moaned Juanita helplessly.

Manuel, coming out of the post-office with his mail, looked at the weeping girl incuriously.  It was, he happened to know, a habit of the sex to cry over trifles.

Juanita found in a little nod from Miss Valdes permission to leave.  She turned and walked hurriedly away to the adobe cabin where she slept.  Before she reached it the walk had become a run.

“Has the young woman lost a ribbon or a lover?” commented Pesquiera, with a smile.

“Manuel, I am worried,” answered Valencia irrelevantly.

“What about, my cousin?”

“It’s this man Gordon again.  Juanita says that Pablo and Sebastian have gone to kill him.”

“Gone where?”

“To Santa Fe.  They asked for a leave of absence.  You know how sullen and suspicious Sebastian is.  It is fixed firmly in his head that Mr. Gordon is going to take away his farm.”

Manuel’s black eyes snapped.  He did not propose to let any peons steal from him the punishment he owed this insolent Gordon.

“But Pablo is not a fool.  Surely he knows he cannot do such a mad thing.”

“Pablo is jealous—­and hot-headed.”  The angry color mounted to the cheeks of the young woman.  “He is in love with Juanita and he found out this stranger has been philandering with her.  It is abominable.  This Gordon has made the silly little fool fall in love with him.”

“Oh, if Pablo is jealous——­” Pesquiera gave a little shrug of his shoulders.  He understood pretty well the temperament of the ignorant Mexican.  The young lover was likely to shoot first and think afterward.

Valencia was still thinking of the American.  Beneath the olive of her cheeks two angry spots still burned.  “I detest that sort of thing.  I thought he was a gentleman—­and he is only a male flirt ... or worse.”

“Perhaps—­and perhaps not, my cousin.  Did Juanita tell you——?”

“She told me enough.  All I need to know.”

Again the young man’s shoulders lifted in a little gesture of humorous resignation.  He knew the uncompromising directness of Miss Valdes and the futility of arguing with her.  After all, the character of Gordon was none of his business.  The man might have made love to Juanita, though he did not look like that kind of a person.  In any case the important thing was to save his life.

After a moment’s thought he announced a decision.  “I shall take the stage for Santa Fe this afternoon.  When I have warned the American I’ll round up your man-hunters and bring them back to you.”

His lady’s face thanked him, though her words did not.  “You may tell them I said they were to come back at once.”

At her cousin’s urgent request Miss Valdes stayed to eat luncheon with him at Corbett’s, which was a half-way station for the stage and maintained a public eating-house.  Even Valencia hesitated a little at this, though she was at heart an emancipated American girl and not a much-chaperoned Spanish maid.  But she wanted to repay him for the service he was undertaking so cheerfully, and therefore sacrificed her scruples.