ow, when the truth had been spread out
before his eyes, he had taken it for pure fiction. Yet every seeming
absurdity in Elsie's account became credible the moment he considered
the facts he knew, in the light of understanding.

Though Carmena had made much of probable danger from the "bronchos," she
had sent up those telltale puffs of smoke. During the flight across the
Basin she had changed from boots to moccasins, which he now knew to be
of Apache style, if not of Apache make. They would account for the
moccasin print behind the crag from which his hat had been shot off and
his burro killed. For her to cut down to her pony, pull on her boots,
and ride around to the wash along the trail had been easy.

The purpose of her strange attack clearly had been to break up his
prospecting trip by the death of the burro and to test whether he could
and would fight. No less clear, now, was the subtle manner in which she
had both spurred his daring with her derision and appealed to his
chivalry for protection against the murderous bronchos. All the time
Cochise and his band were over in the Basin, waiting for her to lure a
victim within their power.

On this point was it not probable that Elsie was mistaken? Had not
Carmena's intention been to have her savage accomplices capture him and
hold him for ransom? The game might well have included a pretended
capture of herself, so that chivalry would lead him to pay a larger
ransom.

No--Elsie's explanation was the more probable. And he could trust her
truthfulness. Whatever he might think of Carmena, this child-minded girl
at least was absolutely innocent of any scheming. Her dread of Cochise
could not possibly have been feigned.

Even Carmena must be given her due. She had been driven desperate by the
threats of Cochise to take Elsie as his squaw; and the partnership of
her father in the illicit making and bootlegging of moonshine whiskey
had prevented her from appealing to the law for protection. But, on the
other hand, she had deliberately taken the risk of killing the first
chance stranger that came along the Moqui trail----

Lennon frowned as he pictured the hole through the crown of his
sombrero. That had been an uncomfortably close shot. Why had not the
girl met him face to face on the trail and frankly asked for his aid?
Instead of that straightforward, above-board procedure, she had risked
shooting him, had deceived him, had led him into a trap where he would
have had