How about that hole in your hat?
Hadn't you better catch the first train East, and keep going?"

Lennon flushed, rallied himself, and smiled.

"I didn't come to Arizona for my health. I might say it was on business,
but I've no objection to a bit of sport on the side."

The dark eyes of the girl flashed with a look of almost fierce
intensity.

"I'll call your bluff," she challenged. "We'll see if you're
four-flushing. Dead Hole--Dad's ranch--is only a few miles southeast of
Triple Butte, the mountain you're headed for. I know the short cut
across the Basin. Want to come along?"

"The Indians," protested Lennon. "No, do not misunderstand me, please.
It is all right for a man to take chances. But a girl like you----"

"Like me? Well, the kind of girl I am is this--I'm going home. I've no
mind to back up. Good-bye, Mr. Jack Lennon."

He was beside her again before she had reached the bed of the arroyo.

"I have a compass," he said. "Perhaps I'll get to your ranch even if
your pony outruns me. Only trouble, I can't lug both tools and food."

The girl stopped short to draw off her glove and offer him her strong
white hand.

"I'm Carmena Farley. I don't like rattlers, coyotes, or quitters."

"I may prove to be a quitter, Miss Farley, but I'd like at least to be
entered for the game."

The dark-eyed daughter of Arizona looked at him searchingly.

"You will be risking the highest of all stakes--your life," she warned.

Lennon smiled. "Oh, no; not the highest. There are other things more
precious."

"Maybe," she assented. "But not everybody would agree with you."

CHAPTER II

OFF TRAIL

By the time the two reached the dead burro again the somber mood of the
girl had lightened.

"First thing is to sort over your pack," she said. "We'll cull out
what's not needed."

The girths of the packsaddle were cut loose, and the animal was dragged
clear of the pack. When Lennon's very creditable diamond-hitch had been
thrown off, the girl overhauled the pack and made quick decisions.

"We'll leave most of the flour. You can stock up at the ranch with
cornmeal. Same with your cooking outfit. Throw out all but one drill and
all the giant powder--no, keep half a dozen sticks."

"But, Miss Farley, I can't begin to lug a quarter of----"

"Don't forget my pony," cut in Carmena.

"He can't carry you and all this truck of mine," remonstrated Lennon.
"I'll not permit you to walk. You must have hurt your foot. I s