So he placed them there with a thoroughness that lathered the horses, tough as they were.  Johnny Jewel knew his Arizona—­let it go at that.

“Say, bo, do we have to ride down in there?” came a wail from behind when Johnny’s horse paused to choose the likeliest place to jump off a three-foot rim of rock that fenced a deep gash.

“Yep—­ride or fly.  Why?  This ain’t bad,” Johnny chirped, never looking around.

“Honest to Pete, I’m ready to croak right now!  I can loop and I can write my initials in fire on a still night—­but damned if I do a nose-dive with nothing but a horse under me.  He—­his control’s on the blink!  He don’t balance to suit me.  Aw, say!  Lemme walk!  Honest—­”

“And get snake-bit?” Johnny glanced back and waved his hand airily just as his horse went over like a cat jumping off a fence.  “Come on!  Let your horse have his head.  He’ll make it.”

“Me?  I ain’t got his head!  Sa-ay, where’s—­” He trailed off into a mumble, speaking always from the viewpoint of a flyer.  Johnny, listening while he led the way down a blind trail to the bottom, caught a word now and then and decided that Bland Halliday must surely be what he claimed to be, or he would choose different terms for his troubles.  He would not, for instance, be wondering all the while what would happen if Sandy did a side-slip; nor would he have openly feared a “pancake” at the landing.

Johnny let the horses drink at a water hole, permitted the fellow five minutes or so in which to make sure that he was alive and that aches did not necessarily mean broken bones, and led the way on down that small canon and out across the level toward another gulch, heading straight for Sinkhole much as a burdened ant goes through, over, or under whatever lies in its path.

It was a very good way to reach home quickly, but it had one drawback which Johnny could not possibly have foreseen.  It brought him face to face with Mary V without any chance at all of retreating unseen or making a detour.

The three horses stopped, as range horses have a habit of doing when they meet like that.  The riders stared for a space.  Then Bland Halliday turned his attention to certain raw places on his person, trying to ease them by putting all his weight on what he termed the foot-controls.  Even a pretty girl could not interest him very much just then, and Mary V, I must confess, was not looking as pretty as she sometimes looked.

“Well, Johnny Jewel!” said Mary V disapprovingly. “What have you there?”

“Well, Mary V! What are you doing here?” Johnny echoed promptly, choosing to ignore her question.

“What is that to you, may I ask?” Mary V challenged him.

“What is the other to you, may I ask?” Johnny retorted.

Deadlocked, they looked at each other and tried not to let their eyes smile.

“You’re all over your cold, I see,” said Mary V meaningly.  “You didn’t come after all to ride with me last Sunday, although you promised to come.”