he small tables. They had just ridden in--their horses
could be seen outside at the rail. The back of the head of one of these
gentlemen interested Polly immensely. There was something about it which
reminded her strongly of Juan Pachuca.

"Do those Mexicans live in Chula Vista?" she asked Mabel, under cover of a
laugh at one of Hard's stories.

"No, they're strangers," replied the girl. "I think they come from a ranch
out of town."

Of course it couldn't be Pachuca! He was in hiding somewhere down yonder,
and yet--the party was on her mind and she noticed it as it broke up and
the men passed out of the dining-room. She caught a side view of the
suspected one--it was Pachuca, without a doubt. Whether he saw her or not
she could not say but if he did he avoided showing it.

The girl's first inclination was to call Scott's attention to the Mexican;
then she hesitated--it would mean trouble. There would be fighting and
someone would be hurt. Scott's back was toward them and he talked along
quite innocent of the presence of Pachuca. While she hesitated the moment
passed, the Mexicans were out of the room and she saw them mount their
horses and ride off. Scott and Hard were still deep in argument. Whether
Clara saw or not Polly could not tell.

"Marc," Polly stopped beside him as they left the dining-room, "I've a
nasty little headache--shall you mind if I go to bed?"

Scott, a bit surprised, replied in the negative and Polly went on, her
hand on his arm coaxingly:

"Did you find out that the train goes to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"Do I have to go on it?"

"There's no other way that I know of for you to go home."

"You won't come with me?"

"I can't leave the property when your brother's away; you know that."

"Well, I suppose you can't. It's very trying, isn't it?"

"It's not what I'd like." Scott, in spite of himself, smiled down into the
serious eyes.

"Well, if I were as big as you and didn't like a thing, I'd change it,
that's all. Good-night." She ran up the stairs.

Scott shrugged his shoulders and strode into the office of the hotel; the
Commonwealth boasted no parlor--guests sat in the office or went to bed.
Clara and Hard stood near the desk talking to Penhallow. Scott lit a
cigarette and went outside. The narrow strip of veranda was vacant. He
walked moodily up and down.

Of course, if she had a headache--but it seemed queer to leave a fellow so
early on their last evening together for no one knew ho