she became that he was not a casual puncher busy at the legitimate work of his craft.
“Do you—live near here?” she asked presently.
“I live under my hat, ma'am,” he told her.
“Sometimes near here, sometimes not so near.”
This told her exactly nothing.
“How far did you say it was to the Rocking Chair?”
“I didn't say.”
At the sound of a horses footfall she turned, and she saw that whereas they had been two, now they were three. The newcomer was a slender, graceful man, dark and lithe, with quick, piercing eyes, set deep in the most reckless, sardonic face she had ever seen.
The man bowed, with a sweep of his hat almost derisive. “Miss Mackenzie, I believe.”
She met him with level eyes that confessed no fear.
“Who are you, sir?”
“They call me Wolf Leroy.”
Her heart sank. “You and he are the men that held up the Limited.''
“If we are, you are the young lady that beat us out of thirty thousand dollars. We'll collect now,” he told her, with a silky smile and a glitter of white, even teeth.
“What do you mean? Do you think I carry money about with me?”
“I didn't say that. We'll put it up to your father.”
“My father?”
“He'll have to raise thirty thousand dollars to redeem his daughter.” He let his bold eyes show their admiration. “And she's worth every cent of it.”
“Do you mean—” She read the flash of triumph in his ribald eyes and broke off. There was no need to ask him what he meant.
“That's what I mean exactly, ma'am. You're welcome to the hospitality of Hidden Valley. What's ours is yours. You're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I reckon YOU'RE NOT WELCOME TO GO WHENEVER YOU WANT TO—not till we get that thirty thousand.”
“You talk as if he were a millionaire,” she told him scornfully.
“The major's got friends that are. If it's a showdown he'll dig the dough up. I ain't a bit worried about that. His brother, Webb, will come through.”
“Why should he?” She stood as straight and unbending as a young pine, courage regnant in the very poise of the fine head. “You daren't harm a hair of my head, and he knows it. For your life, you daren't.”
His eyes glittered. Wolf Leroy was never a safe man to fling a challenge at. “Don't you be too sure of that, my dear. There ain't one thing on this green earth I daren't do if I set my mind to it. And your friends know it.”
The other man broke in, easy and unmoved. “Hold yore hawses, cap. We got no call to be threatening this young lady. We keep her for a ransom because that's business. But she's as safe here as she would be at the Rocking Chair. She's got York Neil's word for that.”
The Wolf snarled. “The word of a miscreant. That'll comfort her a heap. And York Neil's word don't always go up here.”
The cowpuncher's steady eyes met him. “It'll go this time.”
The girl gave her champion a quiet little nod and a low “Thank you.” It was not much, but enough. For on the frontier “white men” do not war on women. Her instinct gave just the right manner of treating his help. It assumed that since he was what he was he could do no less. Moreover, it had the unexpected effect of spurring the Wolf's vanity, or something better than his vanity. She could see the battle in his face, and the passing of its evil, sinister expression.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Mackenzie. York's right. I'll add my word to his about your safety. I'm a wolf, they'll tell you. But when I give my word I keep it.”
They turned and followed through the gateway the cattle which Hardman and another rider were driving up the canon. Presently the walls fell back, the gulch opened to a saucer-shaped valley in which nestled a little ranch.
Leroy indicated it with a wave of his hand. “Welcome to Hidden Valley, Miss Mackenzie,” he said cynically.
“Afraid I'm likely to wear my welcome out if you keep me here until my father raises thirty thousand dollars,” she said lightly.
“Don't you worry any about that. We need the refining influences of ladies' society here. I can see York's a heap improved already. Just to teach us manners you're worth your board and keep.” Then hardily, with a sweeping gesture toward the weary cattle: “Besides, your uncle has sent up a contribution to help keep you while you visit with us.”
York laughed. “He sent it, but he didn't know he was sending it.”
Leroy surrendered his room to Miss Mackenzie and put at her service the old Mexican woman who cooked for him. She was a silent, taciturn creature, as wrinkled as leather parchment and about as handsome, but Alice found safety in the very knowledge of the presence of another woman in the valley. She was among robbers and cutthroats, but old Juanita lent at least a touch of domesticity to a situation that would otherwise have been impossible. The girl was very uneasy in her mind. A cold dread filled her heart, a fear that was a good deal less than panic-terror, however. For she trusted the man Neil even as she distrusted his captain. Miscreant he had let himself be called, and doubtless was, but she knew no harm could befall her from his companions while he was alive to prevent it. A reassurance of this came to her that evening in the fragment of a conversation she overheard. They were passing her window which she had raised on account of the heat when the low voices of two men came to her.
“I tell you I'm not going, Leroy. Send Hardman,” one said.
“Are you running this outfit, or am I, Neil?”
“You are. But I gave her my word. That's all there's to it.”
Alice was aware that they had stopped and were facing each other tensely.
“Go slow, York. I gave her my word, too. Do you think I'm allowing to break it while you're away?”
“No, I don't. Look here, Phil. I'm not looking for trouble. You're major-domo of this outfit What you say goes—except about this girl. I'm a white man, if I'm a scoundrel.”
“And I'm not?”
“I tell you I'm not sayin' that,” the other answered doggedly.
“You're hinting it awful loud. I stand for it this time, York, but never again. You butt in once more and you better reach for your hardware simultaneous. Stick a pin in that.”
They had moved on again, and she did not hear Neil's answer. Nevertheless, she was comforted to know she had one friend among these desperate outlaws, and that comfort gave her at least an hour or two of broken, nappy sleep.
In the morning when she had dressed she found her room door unlocked, and she stepped outside into the sunshine. York Neil was sitting on the porch at work on a broken spur strap. Looking up, he nodded a casual good morning.
