d from his nose, now seemed to coagulate in tiny,
oily globules. He put down a half-empty tumbler and stared at Pete.
"No man sleeps," he mumbled, as his lids drooped. Slowly his chin sank
to his chest and he slumped forward against the table. Pete started to
get up. Flores raised his head. "Drink--senor!" he murmured, and
slumped forward, knocking the tumbler over. A dark red line streaked
the table and dripped to the floor.

Something moved in the kitchen doorway. Pete glanced up to see Boca
staring at him. He gestured toward her father. She nodded
indifferently and beckoned Pete to follow her.

"I knew that you would think me a lie if I did not come," she told him,
as they stood near the old corral--Pete's impatience to be gone
evident, as he shouldered his saddle. "But you will not ride tonight.
You would die."

"It's some hot--but I aim to go through."

"But no--not to-night! For three days will it be like this! It is
terrible! And you have been ill."

She pressed close to him and touched his arm. "Have I not been your
friend?"

"You sure have! But honest, Boca, I got a hunch that it's time to fan
it. 'T ain't that I'm sore at your old man now--or want to leave
you--but I got a hunch somethin' is goin' to happen."

"You think only of that Malvey. You do not think of me," complained
Boca.

"I'm sure thinkin' of you every minute. It ain't Malvey that's
botherin' me now."

"Then why do you not rest--and wait?"

"Because restin' and waitin' is worse than takin" a chanct. I got to
go."

"You must go?"

Pete nodded.

"But what if I will not find a horse for you?"

"Then I reckon you been foolin' me right along."

"That is not so!" Boca's hand dropped to her side and she turned from
him.

"'Course it ain't! And say, Boca, I'll make it through all right. All
I want is a good hoss--and a canteen and some grub."

"I have made ready the food and have a canteen for you--in my room."

"Then let's go hunt up that cayuse."

"It is that you will die--" she began; but Pete, irritated by argument
and the burning wind that droned through the canon, put an end to it
all by dropping the saddle and taking her swiftly in his arms. He
kissed her--rather perfunctorily. "My little pardner!" he whispered.

Boca, although sixteen and mature in a sense, was in reality little
more than a child. When Pete chose to assert himself, he had much the
stronger will. She felt that all pleading would