me prayers."

"Make one for a straight trail to the border, and all sentries
asleep!" he suggested. "We have a pile of yellow rock to get across,
to say nothing of our latest puzzling prospect."

As the day wore on the latest "prospect" presented many complications
to the imagination, and he tramped the corridors of Mesa Blanca
wondering why he had seen but one side of the question the night
before, for in the broad light of day there seemed a dozen, and all
leading to trouble! That emerald-eyed daughter of a renegade priest
had proven a host in herself when it came to breeding trouble. She
certainly had been unlucky.

"Well, it might be worse," he confided to Bunting out in the corral.
"Cap Pike might have tagged along to discourse on the general
tomfoolery of a partner who picks up a damsel in distress at every
fork of the trail. Not that he'd be far wrong at that, Baby. If any
hombre wanted to catch me in a bear trap he'd only need to bait it
with a skirt."

Baby Bunting nodded sagaciously, and nuzzled after Kit who was
cleaning up the best looking saddle horse brought in from the Indian
herd. It was a scraggy sorrel with twitchy ears and wicked eyes, but
it looked tough as a mountain buck. Kit knew he should need two like
that for the northern trail, and had hopes that the bewitched Marto
Cavayso, whoever he was, would furnish another.

He went steadily about his preparations for the border trail, just as
if the addition of an enchantress with green-jewel eyes was an every
day bit of good fortune expected in every outfit, but as the desert
ranges flamed rose and mauve in the lowering sun there was a restless
expectancy at the ranch house, bolts and locks and firearms were given
final inspection. Even at the best it was a scantily manned fort for
defense in case Mario's companions at dice should question his winning
and endeavor to capture the stake.

"I shall go part way on the Soledad trail and wait what happens," he
told Isidro. "I will remain at a distance unless Clodomiro needs me.
There is no telling what tricks this Cavayso may have up his sleeve."

"I was thinking that same thought," said the old Indian. "The men of
Perez are not trusted long, even by Perez. When it is a woman, they
are not trusted even in sight! Go with God on the trail."

The ugly young sorrel ran tirelessly the first half of the way, just
enough to prove his wind. Then they entered a canon where scrub
cottonwoods and greasebush g