"You are his enemy, and, therefore, mine."

"I'm a friend of Michael O'Halloran, who stood between him and the mob
that wanted to kill him."

"Who first plotted against him and seduced his officers to betray him,"
she quickly replied.

"I reckon, ma'am, we better agree to disagree on politics," said Bucky
good-naturedly. "We're sure liable to see things different from each
other. Castile and Arizona don't look at things with the same eyes."

She looked at him just then with very beautiful and scornful ones, at
any rate. "I should hope not."

"You see, we're living in the twentieth century up in the sunburned
State," said Bucky, with smiling aplomb.

"Indeed! And we poor Chihuahuans?"

"When I see the ladies I think you're ce'tainly in the golden age, but
when I break into your politics, I'm some reminded of that Richard Third
fellow in the Shakespeare play."

"Referring, I presume, to my father?" she demanded haughtily.

"In a general way, but eliminating the most objectionable points of the
king fellow."

"You're very kind." She interrupted her scorn to ask him where he meant
her to sleep.

He glanced over the room. "This might do right here, if we had that bed
aired."

"Do you expect to put me in irons?"

"Not right away. Colonel, I'll ask you to go to the office and notify
me as soon as Senor O'Halloran arrives." He waited till the colonel had
gone before adding: "I'm going to leave this boy with you, senorita, for
a while. He'll explain some things to you that I can't. In about an
hour I'll be back, perhaps sooner. So long, Curly. Tell the lady your
secret." And with that Bucky was out of the room.

"Your secret, child! What does he mean?"

The flame of color that swept into the cheeks of Frances, the appeal
in the shamed eyes, held Carmencita's surprised gaze. Then coolly it
traveled over the girl and came back to her burning face.

"So that's it, is it?"

But the scorn in her voice was too much for Frances. She had been judged
and condemned in that cool stare, and all the woman in her protested at
its injustice.

"No, no, no!" she cried, running forward and catching at the other's
hand. "I'm not that. You don't understand."

Coldly Carmencita disengaged her hand and wiped it with her kerchief. "I
understand enough. Please do not touch me."

"May I not tell you my story?"

"I'll not trouble you. It does not interest me."

"But you will listen?" implored the other.

"I must ask to be e