Barlow and
Zoraida riding so early?" The immediate present and the immediate
surroundings were all that he cared to interest himself in on a day
like this.

The man at the gate had said it was ten miles from the far side of the
ridge to the Bruce West ranch house; the entire distance, therefore,
from the Hacienda Montezuma would be about double that distance. The
trail, once he reached the hills, was a dilatory, leisurely affair,
thoroughly Mexican; it sought out the gentlest slope always and
appeared in no haste to arrive anywhere. Well, his mood could be made
to suit the trail's; he was in no hurry, having all day for his talk
with young West.

The higher he rose above the floor of Zoraida's grassy valley the
steeper did his trail become, flanked with cliffs, at times looking too
sheer ahead for a horse. But always the path twisted between the
boulders and found the possible way up. So he came into a splendid
solitude, a region of naked rocks, of a few windblown trees, of little
open level spaces grown up with dry brush and wiry grass; of defiles
through stone-bound ways that were so narrow two men could not have
ridden through them abreast, so crooked that a man often could not see
ten steps ahead or ten steps behind, so deep that he must throw his
head far back to see the barren cliff tops above him. Strips of sky,
seen thus, were deep, deep blue.

It was not at all strange, he told himself during one of his meditative
moments while his horse climbed valiantly, that Zoraida should know of
his friendship with Bruce West, nor that she should understand his
natural desire to ride where he was going this morning. Everyone in
the border town had known of his letter at the postoffice; further, it
was not in the least unlikely that Senorita Castelmar would know of the
letter when it was dropped into the slot at the Mexican postoffice.
What did strike him as odd, however, was that she should consent to his
leaving the ranch, realizing that he knew much of her own plans and
would doubtless speak freely of them and of the American girl held in
her house for ransom.

"Not only was she willing for me to see Bruce," he decided; "she wanted
me to. Why?"

His trail led him into the last narrow defile to be encountered before
reaching the summit. So closely did the rocks press in on each side
that often his tapaderos brushed the sheer wall. He made a turn, none
too wide for the body of his horse and drew sudden re