Scott, starting breezily down the trail after the recreant horses, whistled a tune as he went, for he was happy. He did not weigh reason against happiness—it was too soon for that. He would have given you, however, if pressed, a number of very good reasons why he and Polly Street were going to be happy together, in spite of their different upbringing, and his own not very lucid reasons for not having wanted to marry her.

Just at present he was occupied with the idea of the horses. He felt that they would not be apt to go back on the trail unless it was to look for water, and water they might find at the bottom of the ravine though the underbrush was too dense for him to see it. He could follow their trail very easily in the sandy path but he walked a quarter of a mile before he found the place where they had struck out of the trail for the bottom of the ravine.

Very cautiously he started down, for the going was decidedly bad and he had no wish to risk a fall. He trailed the prints, marveling at the sure-footedness of the animal which can follow so hazardous a path.

“I wouldn’t dare put a horse down a trail like this,” he mused with a grin, “and yet the rascals will go down by themselves as smooth as silk. Hullo, I guessed right! There is water down here. There’s old Jasper filling up on it, and the mare, too. Well, I guess we don’t walk home this trip.” And just as Polly, some hundreds of feet above him was trying madly to reach the cave, Scott, quite oblivious of impending danger, started on his difficult climb, leading the two horses.

“Serve you darn well right, you fellows, if I was to make you haul me,” he said, as Jasper’s soft nose rubbed against his shoulder. “I would, too, if I didn’t think you’d slide down and break my neck just when my girl needs me. Come on, you grafters, shake a leg, will you?”

It was a bad climb. The perspiration rolled off Scott’s face and the veins stood out upon his forehead. Gasping for breath, he dug his toes into the soft earth and plugged ahead, pulling the reluctant animals after him. He had nearly gained the top, was within twenty feet, perhaps, of the end of the climb, when Jasper began to pull back. They were breaking through some brush, Scott being nearly through when Jasper began pulling. Scott gave the bridle an irritated jerk and spoke sharply to the horse. As he did so, he looked up and saw Angel Gonzales and his band coming down the trail. For a second, Scott lost his wits. He took a quick step forward, giving the bridle another jerk as he did so. Jasper, naturally aggrieved, pulled back again, and Scott, standing on a loose bit of rock, slipped, tried to right himself, slipped again, overbalanced, fell and rolled down—over boulders, through brush, falling ever faster as he tried to regain a foothold.

Both bridles had been wrenched from his hand as he fell and the horses, half scared, half inquisitive, followed him a few steps and then returned to the munching of grass, behind the clump of brush.

Angel Gonzales, a large, brutal-looking man, his face covered with a black beard, his clothes bearing the mark of many a scuffle, swung down the trail in the lead, his particular crony, one Porfirio Cortes, riding immediately after him. A little distance intervened between Cortes and the other members of the party. Even in bandit circles the line is drawn somewhere, and in Angel’s band it was drawn immediately after Porfirio Cortes.

Angel rode, one leg thrown over his pommel, which enabled him to chat comfortably with Cortes. They were talking of Juan Pachuca.

“A slippery one, that,” Cortes had remarked, keenly. “I don’t believe he means to throw in his lot with us. When I see him do it, I will believe—not before.”

“Why not? I have more men than he has. He needs men. All he has is this understanding that he brags of with the new government.”

“Lies, amigo, lies! His record with Carranza is against him.”

“Well, all men lie,” replied Angel, tersely, and with probably no intention of plagiarism. “Anyhow, we can do some good fighting together. There will be some fine pickings when we get the old man out of Mexico City. Think of the money, the fine clothes, the women!”

“Yes, I think of them,” replied Cortes, meditatively. “But I think also of Obregon. I hate that man. He hung a cousin of mine, once, for less than what you and I did to those Yaquis. Also, he has persecuted Villa.”

“Well, so will I persecute Villa if I ever get a chance,” replied Angel, cheerfully. “The fat thief! Think of the gold he has hidden in these mountains! Hold—what is that? Down in the canyon? Horses! Is it troops, do you think?”

“Troops—in a hole like that? It might be those Indians—an ambush!”

“It would be like the devils. I don’t see them now.”

“You saw Soria’s burro, most likely. Your nerves are bad, as the gringos say.” Both men grinned and rode on. Suddenly, they heard a crashing sound of scattering stones that rose even above the noise made by their horses. Angel threw up his head in alarm, very much as a horse does when he scents danger. “It is the Indians,” he said to Porfirio. “We must not be attacked in this narrow place. Forward! Ride! The Yaquis are upon us!” he cried, driving the spurs into his horse. He was followed by Cortes, who in turn was followed by the others. The entire band gave a vivid moving picture of a reckless run down a narrow trail, by a hundred men, any one of whom would have considered it utter madness had he been alone.

Marc Scott, stopped by a mesquite bush near the bottom of the canyon, lay for a few moments where he had fallen, literally too shaken to move. When he realized what had happened to him, he crawled to his feet and listened. All was still. The sounds from above had ceased, and a cloud of dust hovering over the trail was the only evidence that he had not imagined the passing of a crowd of men.

“By golly, I believe they didn’t hear me after all!” he gasped. Then the thought came to him of Polly—alone on the trail above him. A sickening fear shook him; how could she possibly have escaped those men? In a blind fury he started to climb the ravine. It had been hard going before—now, in spite of his body, stiff and shaken, he did not feel the effort. His face was purple with heat and exertion, his hands were bloody with the cactus he had clutched when falling, but his terror for the girl dwarfed all physical discomfort. Panting and choking, he forged ahead. If he could only reach Jasper he would follow that cloud of dust until he knew what had happened to the woman he loved.

Jasper and the mare, uninfluenced by motives either of fear or anger, still grazed by the clump of brush and allowed the almost exhausted Scott to lead them back to the trail. He mounted Jasper, and turned the mare loose. He started down the trail after the vanished band at a pace quite as reckless as their own.

“Marc! Marc Scott!” Polly’s voice rose desperately as she saw him disappearing down the trail. “Come back here!”

Scott turned, bewildered, to see Polly running wildly toward him. She flung herself upon him and upon Jasper before he could dismount, pouring out the story of the men who had gone down the trail.

“And the worst of it was,” she wept, stormily, “that I didn’t even try to warn you. I just made for that cave and hid myself. That’s the sort of a girl I am.”

“Did you, honey? Do you know, that strikes me as mighty sensible? I don’t hold much with girls saving men’s lives outside the movies, where they’re well paid for it. It strikes me life-saving is a man-sized job.”

“But you’re all scratched! What in the world——”

“I had to roll down the hill to dodge ’em,” chuckled Scott, as he caught the mare and helped the girl to mount her. “I’ll tell you about it after a while; just now I think we’d better be on our way.”

They rode on in silence, back over the trail and around the curve past the imitation cave which had sheltered Polly. Scott eyed the horses with inward pessimism.

“They’re never going to make it,” he thought. “They’re about all in now. Wish I knew whether to camp out and go on in the morning or to keep on pushing. If I was alone I’d bed down for the night but I hate to ask her to spend a night in the open unless I have to. Well, we’ll go on a while.”

They rode on, the tired horses going more and more slowly and responding less and less readily to urging. The trail did not go all the way down into the canyon, but met a rocky ledge which crossed it like a natural bridge. It was narrow and it was slippery with loose stones, but the girl took it silently. She was too tired and hungry to be afraid. The two sandwiches seemed things belonging to another life. She tried to smile when Scott looked back at her but it was hard work.

They came off the ledge onto the side of a hill which formed a part of the second range of mountains. The spot, green as a deer park, was directly on the side of the hill, about half-way up. Around it were trees—pines and live oaks. The trail seemed to have disappeared altogether. Scott had dismounted and was waiting for the girl to come up.

“What’s the matter?” she demanded, anxiously.

He dropped his horse’s bridle and came to her side. “I’ve a question for you, best girl,” he said, his hand on the pommel of her saddle, “These horses are hardly fit to climb this next range. They might do it and make the rest of the trip to-day if we urged them but it ain’t a square deal. Then, too, it would be dark before we got there.

“This is a place where we could stay. There’s pasture for the horses and I think that little stream that I found down in the canyon starts from up here somewhere. If we go on we may make it and again we may get tangled up in the mountains after dark, which I don’t fancy. I’m no forest ranger, you know. Shall we stay here till three or four o’clock in the morning or shall we plug ahead? It’s up to you.”

Polly turned an appalled face toward him. “But, Marc, you don’t mean to stay here—in this place—all night?” she said, faintly.

“Well, it won’t be exactly all night. It’s nearly five o’clock now and we could start at daybreak.”

“But—why, we haven’t anything to stop with! No tent and no blankets and nothing to eat! It would be rather dreadful, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, not dreadful, exactly. We’ve the blankets under our saddles, and you have your long cloak. I’ll build you a fire. Of course there’s nothing to eat except the rest of the sandwiches.”

“Well, perhaps—it would be pretty bad to get lost up here after dark. There might be mountain lions or mad skunks. They do have mad skunks out here, don’t they?”

Scott chuckled. “Search me, honey, all the skunks I ever met were mad. Come on down and we’ll have a look at the country.”

“Marc,” Polly looked down at him, her eyes soft, “I’m wondering what I would have done if those bandits had gobbled you.”

“I don’t let bandits gobble me when I’m escorting ladies,” replied Scott. Then meeting her eyes, the twinkle faded out of his. “You’d better say what would I have done if you hadn’t hidden in that cave.” His head rested for a moment against her knee.

“I don’t know. Seems as though things were being managed for us, doesn’t it?”

“I hope so.”

He lifted her to her feet and she looked around her curiously.

“It’s a pretty place,” she pronounced. “I hope you’re right about the water. I saw a little stream way up in the mountains when I climbed to the cave.”

“I’m going to let Jasper find it for me,” replied Scott. He had the saddles off the tired horses in a few seconds and they lay down and rolled happily, drying their sweaty backs in the dust. When they got to their feet again, he took the two long ropes from the saddles and fastened them around the horses’ necks.

“Are you going to tie them up?” demanded the girl.

“Not now. Going to let them drag the ropes around. I can catch ’em easy that way. Guess they’re too tired to go far.”

The horses had smelled the water and made for it. It ran in a trickling little stream down the hillside about a dozen feet away, hidden by some brush. Once refreshed, they were easily led back and began to feed on the coarse grass. Scott shook out the blankets.

“They’re a bit horsey,” he admitted, “but they’ll keep you warm. I put them under the saddles instead of the regular saddle blankets because I’ve been caught out this way before. A man learns things in this country.” He handed Polly her long coat and she slipped into it. “This isn’t exactly the time of year I’d pick for a camping trip,” he added, “but we’ll do, I reckon. Do you want to eat the sandwiches now, or do you prefer dinner at six?”

Polly eyed the two big sandwiches with a serious eye. “Let’s look at them a while first,” she said, hungrily. “Isn’t there any way of getting anything else? Can’t you shoot something?”

“I don’t see anything but you and me and the horses. What’s the matter?” For the girl had given a shriek of joy.

“In my coat pocket! A cake of chocolate that Mrs. Van put there—and the sugar. I always bring it for the horses. We’ll keep the chocolate for breakfast, shall we?”

They ate the sandwiches and topped off with the sugar. “Which,” said Polly, seriously, “is very strengthening. I’ve heard that they feed it to the Japanese army.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” assented Scott, “but I reckon that’s not all they feed ’em.”

“Well, it’s not all you’ve been fed, either, so don’t grumble,” said the lady, practically.

“I think,” said Scott, rising, “that before it grows dark I’ll investigate this trail a bit. It looks sort of blind to me. If we have to start by moonlight it’ll be just as well to have some notion of where to begin.”

Polly leaned back against a tree and watched him lazily. He looked very strong and capable. She recalled Joyce Henderson’s graceful proportions and smiled. She had had to come a long way to find the man she wanted but she was well content. It was odd, she reflected, that she and Joyce Henderson, who had known each other all their lives, were like strangers once they attempted the more intimate relation; while for this man whom she had known but a few weeks she felt a sense of familiarity, of belongingness, that she could scarcely believe. She was trusting him now in a way that she had never imagined herself trusting any man and yet she felt at ease.

Scott, returning, threw himself down beside her. “I’ve found the trail,” he said, “but we’ve got some traveling ahead of us. Don’t look to me as if anybody’d been over it since Gomez was.”

“Didn’t those men come this way?”

“No. They must have hit the trail lower down—from some place we’ve missed. I’ll swear no crowd like that have been where I’ve just been.”

The girl looked at him gravely. “Do you think we ought to go back?”

“Back? No, I don’t. Those folks are waiting for us at Soria’s and I want to get Tom started for them as soon as I can.”

“I wonder if those men will make any trouble at Soria’s?”

“I don’t believe so. If it was Angel Gonzales, he’s heading for your gentleman friend’s place and he’ll be in a hurry.”

“Why do you go on calling him my gentleman friend?”

“Well, you think he’s some kind of a guy, don’t you?” demanded Scott, with a grin. “Pretty manners, soft voice, nice long eyelashes—all that kind of thing?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Polly, stoutly. “I like Juan Pachuca and I believe he’s been led away by bad company. I believe what he told me about that treasure, too. I only wish I’d made him tell me the name of the border town where it was.”

“Women are queer,” remarked Scott, with more truth than originality. “Well, Polly Street, I think I’ll gather the wood for your fire.”

Together they gathered the loose twigs and branches—they were not many, but eked out with pine cones would make a fire for a few hours, and Scott made Polly’s bed close by it. He put his rubber poncho on the ground and made the girl wrap herself in both blankets.

“I’ve got a heavy sweater under my coat,” he said, “and I’ll have to keep moving a good deal to look after the horses and keep the fire going.” And he refused to take a blanket, much to Polly’s dismay. “Curl up and be comfortable, girlie, and relax. It don’t matter if you don’t sleep if you can relax.”

Polly tried to comply, but she was too much interested in what was going on around her to give up either to sleep or to relaxation. The crackling of the fire and its wonderful odor, the little hushing noises of the birds going to rest, the gentle coming up of the moon and the myriads of stars, all were too fascinating to risk missing in sleep. Scott had gone after the horses and had tethered each by a long rope in a place where feeding could be attended to, and had come back to the fire and thrown on some more wood. He sat smoking with his feet nearly in the fire and his face lit by its glow.

“I suppose you’ve spent lots of glorious nights in the open?” asked Polly, wistfully.

“A good many. Some of them not so glorious, either. One night up in New Mexico——” he paused to light another cigarette.

“Go on,” demanded the girl. “When you say ‘one night up in New Mexico’ I feel just as I used to when my father used to say ‘once upon a time.’”

“Well, I don’t know why I happened to think of this special night,” grinned Scott, “except that on most of my out-of-door nights I’ve been by myself—out hunting and that kind of thing—and this one I had somebody with me. It was when I was mining in Colorado, and some fellows I knew had a big cattle ranch down in New Mexico. It was a real ranch—not a two for a cent one like Herrick’s. I went down to visit them at round-up time. I’d never seen a round-up before so I was hanging around every chance I got.

“They had a lot of cattle—some of them pretty wild—and it wasn’t easy to keep ’em together especially at night. Well, one day Jim Masters got a fall from his horse and a kick on the head from another when he was down, and he was in a pretty bad state—it looked to us like concussion of the brain but we didn’t know. We carried him into a tent we’d put up about a quarter of a mile from where the cattle were, and one of the boys rode to town for a doctor.

“We were up on a mesa, like the one we crossed yesterday, remember? We had outlaw cattle in the bunch and it took all the boys to handle them. I, being a tenderfoot and not much use with the cattle, said I’d sit with Jim and sort of watch him till the doctor came. He was out of his head so ’twasn’t any comfort to him but it made the boys feel better.”

“I’ll bet it was a comfort to him, Marc Scott! You are the sort of person it would be a comfort to have around if one was out of one’s head,” said Polly, emphatically.

“Thank you, honey; I’m afraid you’re jollying me. Anyhow, I stayed with Jim and while he lay there groaning I sat in the doorway of the tent and smoked—wasn’t anything I could do for the poor boy. Man, that was a night! The mesa just like a big green table spread under the sky—what is it that lunger poet said—‘under the wide and starry sky’? Well, that’s how she looked. Mountains all around, moon blazing away showing up the cattle at the other end of the mesa, not a sound except the river, one of those busy little rivers that keep it up night and day. If I’d known something of cattle I wouldn’t have thought that stillness was so pretty, but I didn’t. I hadn’t even noticed that the cows had stopped bellowing—it seemed like a night that ought to be still.

“When, all of a sudden, I saw a movement in that bunch of cattle. It was a stampede. That’s what they’re cooking up, you know, when they’re still like that. Before I’d realized what had happened they began to bolt—and in our direction. It was just exactly as if one of those old bulls had said to the crowd: ‘There’s a couple of stiffs in a tent down by the river, boys, let’s rush ’em.’

“They came down that mesa like all heck let loose. The electricity in their hides had made a sort of blue haze—phosphorescent, they call it—and it gave ’em an awful look. Of course, the boys hadn’t let them start a stampede without doing anything to stop ’em. They were riding round ’em, yelling and shooting into the air, but on they came.

“Well, it was no place for me and Jim. It began to look to me as if that doctor was going to have his trip for nothing, but what could I do? I couldn’t go off and leave Jim, and when I tried to pick him up he fought me so I had to drop him. ’Twouldn’t have done much good anyhow because there was no place to go. So I said to myself: ‘Sit tight, old man, and if you can’t die game, die as game as you can.’

“On they came like a lot of mad things. Then, all at once, when I’d about given up hope, the boys got ’em to milling. You know how they do that? Get ’em started to going round and round instead of straight ahead and the fools will go till they drop in their tracks. When I saw ’em doing that I knew that Jim and I weren’t slated for Heaven that night so I sat still and enjoyed the sight.

“It was one wild sight. You can read about stampedes till your head aches but you’ve got to see one to know how she feels.”

“What an interesting life you’ve had, Marc, and all I’ve done was to drive a Red Cross ambulance around Chicago and win a few golf trophies,” murmured Polly, sleepily.

“Well, that depends. Perhaps it’s been interesting, but it ain’t been easy.”

They sat in silence for a while and then Scott saw that the girl had fallen asleep. He smiled as he put more wood on the fire.

“Funny that she and I should find each other out of all the world,” he meditated. “Just one nice girl and one no-account chap drawn toward each other. Some folks call it Fate. I didn’t mean to do it and maybe I’m going to wish I hadn’t—but just now I’m satisfied.”