as Angel Gonzales, he's heading for your
gentleman friend's place and he'll be in a hurry."

"Why do you go on calling him my gentleman friend?"

"Well, you think he's some kind of a guy, don't you?" demanded Scott, with
a grin. "Pretty manners, soft voice, nice long eyelashes--all that kind of
thing?"

"Yes, I do," replied Polly, stoutly. "I like Juan Pachuca and I believe
he's been led away by bad company. I believe what he told me about that
treasure, too. I only wish I'd made him tell me the name of the border
town where it was."

"Women are queer," remarked Scott, with more truth than originality.
"Well, Polly Street, I think I'll gather the wood for your fire."

Together they gathered the loose twigs and branches--they were not many,
but eked out with pine cones would make a fire for a few hours, and Scott
made Polly's bed close by it. He put his rubber poncho on the ground and
made the girl wrap herself in both blankets.

"I've got a heavy sweater under my coat," he said, "and I'll have to keep
moving a good deal to look after the horses and keep the fire going." And
he refused to take a blanket, much to Polly's dismay. "Curl up and be
comfortable, girlie, and relax. It don't matter if you don't sleep if you
can relax."

Polly tried to comply, but she was too much interested in what was going
on around her to give up either to sleep or to relaxation. The crackling
of the fire and its wonderful odor, the little hushing noises of the birds
going to rest, the gentle coming up of the moon and the myriads of stars,
all were too fascinating to risk missing in sleep. Scott had gone after
the horses and had tethered each by a long rope in a place where feeding
could be attended to, and had come back to the fire and thrown on some
more wood. He sat smoking with his feet nearly in the fire and his face
lit by its glow.

"I suppose you've spent lots of glorious nights in the open?" asked Polly,
wistfully.

"A good many. Some of them not so glorious, either. One night up in New
Mexico----" he paused to light another cigarette.

"Go on," demanded the girl. "When you say 'one night up in New Mexico' I
feel just as I used to when my father used to say 'once upon a time.'"

"Well, I don't know why I happened to think of this special night,"
grinned Scott, "except that on most of my out-of-door nights I've been by
myself--out hunting and that kind of thing--and this one I had somebody
with me. It was when I was minin