Her cavalier swayed for a moment on his feet. Then he looked down upon her with an evil glitter in his eyes. He was tall and thin, with a black moustache and yellow, unpleasant-looking teeth.

"So you will not dance any longer with Jose?" he muttered. "Very well, you shall drink with him, then. We will sit together at one of those little tables. Listen, you shall drink wine."

"I do not want to drink wine with you. All that I wish is to be left alone," the girl insisted curtly. "Go and play cards, if you want to.

There is Pietro over there, and Diego. Perhaps you may win some money.

They say that drunkards have all the luck."

Jose leered at her.

"Presently I will play cards," he said. "Presently I will win all their money and I will buy jewelry for you, Marta--stones that look like diamonds and will sparkle in your neck and in your hair."

She turned disdainfully away.

"I do not want your jewelry, Jose," she declared.

He caught her suddenly by the wrist.

"Perhaps this is what you want," he cried, as he stooped down to kiss her.

She swung her right hand round and struck him on the face. He staggered back for a moment. There was a red flush which showed through the tan of his cheek. Then he drew a little nearer to her, and before she could escape he had pa.s.sed his long arm around her body. He drew her to the chair placed by the side of the wall. His left hand played with the knife at his belt.

"Marta, little sweetheart," he said mockingly, "you must pay for that blow. Don't be afraid," he went on, as he drew the knife across his leather breeches. "A little scratch across your cheek, so! It is but the brand of your master, a love-token from Jose. Steady, now, little Maverick!"

The girl struggled violently, but Jose was strong, such brawls were common, and those of the company who noticed at all, merely laughed at the girl's futile struggles. Jose's arm was already raised with the knife in his hand, when a sudden blow brought a yell of pain to his lips. The knife fell clattering to the floor. He sprang up, his eyes red with fury. A man had entered the door from behind and was standing within a few feet of him, a man with long, pale face, dark eyes, travel-stained, and with the air of a fugitive. A flood of incoherent abuse streamed from Jose's lips.

He stooped for the knife. Marta threw herself upon him. The two cowboys who had been dancing suddenly intervened. The girls screamed.

"It was Jose's fault!" Marta cried. "Jose was mad. He would have killed me!"

Craig faced them all with sudden courage.

"As I came in," he explained, "that man had his knife raised to stab the girl. You don't allow that sort of thing, do you, here?"

The two cowboys linked their arms through Jose's and led him off towards the door.

"The stranger's right, Jose," one of them insisted. "You can't carve a girl up in company."

The girl clutched at Craig's arm.

"Sit down here, please," she begged. "Wait."

She disappeared for a moment and came back with a gla.s.s full of wine, which she set down on the table.

"Drink this," she invited. "And thank you for saving me."

Craig emptied the gla.s.s eagerly. He was beginning to be more than a little conscious of his fatigue.

"I just happened to be the first to see him," he said. "They aren't quite wild enough to allow that here, are they?"

"Quien sabe? The girls do not like me! The men do not care," she declared.

"Jose took me by surprise, though, or I would have killed him. But who are you, and where did you come from?"

"I have just crossed the border," he replied.

She nodded understandingly.

"Were they after you?"

"Yes! with a warrant for my arrest!"

She patted his hand.

"You are safe now," she whispered. "We care that much for a United States warrant," and she snapped her slim fingers. "You shall stay with us for a time. We will take care of you."

He sighed wearily.

"If I do," he said, "there will be trouble. Wherever I go there is trouble. I have been round the world looking for peace. I shall never find it in this world."

Her eyes filled with tears. There was something hopelessly pathetic in his appearance.

"You shall find it here," she promised.

Back in the camp, a spirit of deviltry had entered once more into Long Jim and his mates. A tactless remark on the part of one of the deputies had set alight once more the smouldering fire of resentment which the cowboys had all the time felt against them. At a word from Long Jim they were taken by surprise and again tied to the wagon.

"These guys ain't got a sufficiency yet, boys. Limber up them guns again.

Same order as before. Put a few more petals on them flowers, and I'll trim their eyelashes for them."

The deputies spluttered with rage and fear. Shots rained about them and the canvas of the wagon was riddled. French began to get restless.

"Look here," he said to Laura, "I can't stand this any longer. It don't seem right to have two officers of the law treated like that, any way. I guess I'll have to b.u.t.t in again."

"Don't," Laura advised bluntly. "You'll get yours if you do."

A yell from one of the deputies clinched the matter. French drew his revolver and advanced into the centre of the little group.

"Say, you fellows," he exclaimed, "you've got to stop this! Those men came here on a legitimate errand and it's your duty to respect them."

Long Jim strolled up to the Inspector.

"Maybe you're right, Mr. French," he remarked, "but--"

With a swoop of his long arm he s.n.a.t.c.hed French's gun away, examined it for a moment, looked at French and shook his head.

"You're too fat, Inspector," he declared sorrowfully, "still too fat.

That's what's the matter with you. Another ten minutes' exercise will do you all the good in the world."

A bullet struck the dust a few inches from French's feet. Furious with rage, he found himself once more forced to resort to undignified antics.