ut her telegram with care. Her next observation startled the
agent.

"Are you, by any chance, married?"

"No; I'm not. What makes you ask that?"

"There's been a woman in here before."

Confusedly his thoughts flew back to Carlotta. But the Mexican girl had
never been in the shack. He was quite absurdly and inexplicably glad now
that she had not.

"A woman?" he said. "Why do you think so?"

"Something in the arrangement of the place. That hanging, yonder. And
that little vase--it's good, by the way. The way that Navajo is placed
on the door. One feels it."

"It's true. A friend of mine came here one day and turned everything
topsy-turvy."

"I'm not asking questions just for curiosity. But is that the reason you
didn't want me to stay?"

He laughed, thinking of Miss Van Arsdale. "Heavens, no! Wait till you
meet her. She's a very wonderful person; but--"

"Meet her? Does she live near here, then?"

"A few miles away."

"Suppose she should come and find me here?"

"It's what I've been wishing."

"Is it! Well, it isn't what I wish at all."

"In fact," continued the imperturbable Banneker, "I rather planned to
ride over to her place this afternoon."

"Why, if you please?"

"To tell her about you and ask her advice."

Io's face darkened rebelliously. "Do you think it necessary to tattle to
a woman who is a total stranger to me?"

"I think it would be wise to get her view," he replied, unmoved.

"Well, I think it would be horrid. I think if you do any such thing, you
are--Mr. Banneker! You're not listening to me."

"Some one is coming through the woods trail," said he.

"Perhaps it's your local friend."

"That's my guess."

"Please understand this, Mr. Banneker," she said with an obstinate
outthrust of her little chin. "I don't know who your friend is and I
don't care. If you make it necessary, I can go to the hotel in town; but
while I stay here I won't have my affairs or even my presence discussed
with any one else."

"You're too late," said Banneker.

Out from a hardly discernible opening in the brush shouldered a big
roan. Tossing up his head, he stretched out in the long, easy lope of
the desert-bred, his rider sitting him loosely and with slack bridle.

"That's Miss Van Arsdale," said Banneker.

CHAPTER VI

Seated in her saddle the newcomer hailed Banneker.

"What news, Ban? Is the wreck cleared up?"

"Yes. But the track is out twenty miles east. Every arroyo and barranca