ond all feeling and sound.
And she had her own good reason for caution. When Flores discovered
his best horse gone, there would be no evidence that would entangle her
or her mother in wordy argument with him for having helped the young
vaquero to leave--and against the direct commands of The Spider, who
had sent word to Flores through Malvey that Pete was to remain at the
rancho till sent for.

At the top of the canon trail Pete reined in and tried to get his
bearings. But the horse, fighting the bit, seemed to have a clear idea
of going somewhere and in the general direction of Showdown. "You
ought to know the trail to Showdown," said Pete. "And you ain't tryin'
to git back home, so go to it! I'll be right with you."

The heavy, hot wind seethed round him and he bent his head, tying his
bandanna across his nose and mouth. The buckskin bored into the night,
his unshod hoofs pattering softly on the desert trail. His first "fine
frenzy" done, he settled to a swinging trot that ate into the miles
ceaselessly. Twice during the ride Pete raised the canteen and
moistened his burning throat. Slowly he grew numb to the heat and the
bite of the whipping sand, and rode as one in a horrible dream. He had
been a fool to ride from comparative safety into this blind furnace of
burning wind. Why had he done so? And again and again he asked
himself this question, wondering if he were going mad. It had been
years and years since he had left the Flores rancho. There was a girl
there--Boca Dulzura--or had he dreamed of such a girl? Pete felt the
back of his head. "No, it wa'n't a dream," he told himself.

A ghastly dawn burned into Showdown, baring the town's ugliness as it
crept from 'dobe to 'dobe as though in search of some living thing to
torture with slow fire. The street was a wind-swept emptiness, smooth
with fine sand. Pete rode to the hitching-rail. The Spider's place
was dumb to his knocking. He staggered round to the western side of
the saloon and squatted on his heels. "Water that pony after a while,"
he muttered. Strange flashes of light danced before his eyes. His
head pained dully and he ached all over for lack of sleep. A sudden
trampling brought him to his feet. He turned the corner of the saloon
just in time to see the buckskin lunge back. The reins snapped like a
thread. The pony shook its head and trotted away, circling. Pete
followed, hoping that the tangle of dragging rein might stop