mon endeavoured to extricate him, the fallen
rider did nothing to assist his efforts; and, after releasing him with
some difficulty, he perceived that the man had fainted.

"That's odd!" thought Simon. "Those fellows don't usually faint over a
fall from a horse!"

He knelt down beside the other and, seeing that his breathing was
embarrassed, undid the first few buttons of his shirt and uncovered
the upper part of his chest. He was stupefied and for the first time
looked at his companion, who hitherto, in the shadow of his
broad-brimmed hat, had seemed to him like the other Indians of the
escort. The hat had fallen off. Quickly, Simon lifted an orange silk
kerchief bound round the head and neck of the supposed Red Indian,
whose hair escaped from it in thick black curls.

"The girl!" he muttered. "Dolores!"

Once more he had before his eyes the vision of radiant beauty to which
his mind had recurred several times during the past two days, though
no emotion mingled with his admiration. He was so far from any thought
of concealing this admiration that the young woman, on recovering
consciousness, surprised it in his gaze. She smiled:

"I'm all right now!" she said. "I was only stunned."

"You're not in pain?"

"No. I am used to accidents. I've often had to fall from my horse for
the films. . . . This one's dead, isn't he? Poor creature!"

"You've saved my life," said Simon.

"We're quits," she replied.

Her expression was grave and harmonized with her slightly austere
features. Her's was one of those beautiful faces which are peculiarly
disconcerting by reason of the contrasts which they present, being at
once passionate and chaste, noble and sensuous, pensive and enticing.

Simon asked her, point blank:

"Was it you who came to my room yesterday, first in broad daylight and
afterwards at night?"

She blushed, but admitted:

"Yes, it was I."

And, at a movement of Simon's, she added:

"I felt uneasy. People were being killed, in town and in the hotel. I
had to watch over you, who had saved my life."

"I thank you," he said once more.

"Don't thank me. I have been doing things in spite of myself . . .
these last two days. You seem to me so different from other men! . . .
But I ought not to speak to you like this. Don't be vexed with me!"

Simon held out his hand to her, when suddenly she assumed a listening
attitude and then, after a moment's attention, straightened her
clothes, hid her hair beneath