orked it slick."

"I do not understand."

"Well, I do."

Pete studied her face. Despite his natural distrust, he realized that
the girl was innocent of plotting against him. He decided to confide
in her--even play the lover if necessary--and he hated pretense--to win
her sympathy and help; for he knew that if he ever needed a friend it
was now.

Boca steadied him to the bench just outside the doorway, and fetched
water. He drank and felt better. Then she carefully unrolled the
bandage, washed the clotted blood from the wound and bound it up again.

"It is bad that you come here," she told him.

"Well, I got one friend, anyhow," said Pete.

"Si, I am your friend," she murmured.

"I ain't what you'd call hungry--but I reckon some coffee would kind of
stop my head from swimmin' round," suggested Pete.

"Si, I will get it."

Pete wondered how far he could trust the girl--whether she would really
help him or whether her kindness were such as any human being would
extend to one injured or in distress--"same as a dog with his leg
broke," thought Pete. But after he drank the coffee he ceased worrying
about the future and decided to take things an they came and make the
best of them.

"Perhaps it is that you have killed a man?" ventured Boca, curious to
know why he was there.

Pete hesitated, as he eyed her sharply. There seemed to be no motive
behind her question other than simple curiosity. "I've put better men
than Malvey out of business," he asserted.

Boca eyed him with a new interest. She had thought that perhaps this
young senor had but stolen a horse or two--a most natural inference in
view of his recent associate. So this young vaquero was a boy in years
only?--and outlawed! No doubt there was a reward for his capture.
Boca had lightly fancied Young Pete the evening before; but now she
felt a much deeper interest. She quickly cautioned him to say nothing
to her father about the real reason for his being there. Rather Pete
was to say, if questioned, that he had stolen a horse about which
Malvey and he had quarreled.

Pete scowled. "I'm no low-down hoss-thief!" he flared.

Boca smiled. "Now it is that I know you have killed a man!"

Pete was surprised that the idea seemed to please her.

"But my father"--she continued--"he would sell you--for money. So it
is that you will say that you have stolen a horse."

"I reckon he would,"--and Pete gently felt the back of his head. "So
I'll te