left hand. His bridle reins and rifle were loosely
held in his bandaged right. Carmena was thrusting her rifle into its
saddle-sheath. Instead of clasping hands, palm to palm, Cochise clutched
Lennon's wrist in a grip that almost crushed the bones. His other hand
closed on the hilt of a knife.

"Sit still, Jack," murmured Carmena.

The warning was needless. Lennon had not stirred in his saddle or made
the slightest attempt to struggle.

"Who's the liar now, Cochise?" reproached Carmena. "You said you'd wait
till Slade came."

"I catch your pard. I keep him till Slade come. Then I have my fun. You
swap my woman for him, I let him go now."

The girl smiled.

"Maybe you'll let him go anyway, _amigo_. I've got you covered, and I
figure the first bullet will go through that pie you just ate."

The glittering black eyes of the Apache shot a sidelong glance down
toward the girl's right hand. It had slipped into a pocket in the fold
of her divided skirt. Her smile widened.

"Think it over," she advised. "What happens to us won't be any fun to
you after you've got yours."

The steel-sinewed fingers that were clutched about Lennon's wrist
opened.

"All dam' good joke--arm handshake," the Apache sought to explain away
his treacherous attempt. "Make sure you got nerve. Sabe? Guess I got to
go. Good-bye."

"Oh, do stay and visit a bit longer," Carmena smilingly urged him. "We
can talk a while with you and Pete. But the others may as well be
starting, don't you think?"

Something in her pocket thrust up the fold of her skirt. Cochise
muttered a word or two that sent the other Apaches loping off down the
valley. When they were some distance away, Carmena nodded almost gaily:

"Well, boys, I suppose the pie is all gone. So, if you feel you have to
go, too.... Good-bye, Pete. Maybe you know, Cochise, it's sometimes a
sign of bad luck to look back or drop off your horse."

The two Indians wheeled their ponies and loped after the others.

Cochise did not look back.

CHAPTER IX

THE MAN WHO WAS

Lennon sprang from his pony and steadied his rifle across the saddle.
Carmena drew in a deep breath.

"That's right," she approved. "Keep him covered. Shoot if he turns--but
not Pete."

The Navaho had drawn rein to tail in behind the pony of his leader. He
thrust a hand overhead in a swift sign gesture.

"You see, Jack. I knew we could count on Pete. The boy thinks a good
deal of me. He was ready to shoot Cochi