LITMIR.BIZ

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was the first clue your father had had for many years about his little girl. He happened to be at Aravaipa the day you and I first met. I guess he took a fancy to me, for he asked me to take this case up for him and see if I couldn't locate you. I ran Hardman down and made him tell me the whole story. But he lied about some of it, for he told me you were dead.”

      “He is a born liar,” the girl commented. “Well, to get on with my story. Anderson, or Hardman, as he now calls himself, except when he uses his stage name of Cavallado, went into the show business and took me with him. When I was a little bit of a girl he used to use me for all sorts of things, such as a target for his knife throwing and to sell medicine to the audience. Lots of people would buy because I was such a morsel of a creature, and I suppose he found me a drawing card. We moved all over the country for years. I hated the life. But what could I do?”

      “You poor little lamb,” murmured the man. “And when did you find out who you were?”

      “I heard you talking to him the night you took him back to Epitaph, and then I began to piece things together. You remember you went over the whole story with him again just before we reached the town.”

      “And you knew it was you I was talking about?”

      “I didn't know. But when you mentioned the locket and the map, I knew. Then it seemed to me that since this man Henderson had lost so many years of his life trying to save me I must do something for him. So I asked you to take me with you. I had been a boy so long I didn't think you would know the difference, and you did not. If I hadn't dressed as a girl that time you would not know yet.”

      “Maybe, and maybe not,” he smiled. “Point is, I do know, and it makes a heap of difference to me.”

      “Yes, I know,” she said hurriedly. “I'm more trouble now.”

      “That ain't it,” he was beginning, when a thought brought him up short. As the daughter of Webb Mackenzie this girl was no longer a penniless outcast, but the heiress of one-half interest in the big Rocking Chair Ranch, with its fifteen thousand head of cattle. As the first he had a perfect right to love her and to ask her to marry him, but as the latter—well, that was quite a different affair. He had not a cent to bless himself with outside of his little ranch and his salary, and, though he might not question his own motives under such circumstances, there would be plenty who would question them for him. He was an independent young man as one could find in a long day's ride, and his pride rose up to padlock his lips.

      She looked across at him in shy surprise, for all the eagerness had in an instant been sponged from his face. With a hard, impassive countenance he dropped the hand he had seized and turned away.

      “You were saying—” she suggested.

      “I reckon I've forgot what it was. It doesn't matter, anyhow.”

      She was hurt, and deeply. It was all very well for her to try her little wiles to delay him, but in her heart she longed to hear the words he had been about to say. It had been very sweet to know that this brown, handsome son of Arizona loved her, very restful to know that for the first time in her life she could trustfully let her weakness lean on the strength of another. And, more than either, though she sometimes smilingly pretended to deny it to herself, was the ultimate fact that she loved him. His voice was music to her, his presence joy. He brought with him sunshine, and peace, and happiness.

      He was always so reliable, so little the victim of his moods. What could have come over him now to change him in that swift instant? Was she to blame? Had she unknowingly been at fault? Or was there something in her story that had chilled him? It was characteristic of her that it was herself she doubted and not him; that it never occurred to her that her hero had feet of clay like other men.

      She felt her heart begin to swell, and choked back a sob. It wrung him to hear the little breath catch, but he was a man, strong-willed and resolute. Though he dug his finger nails into his palms till the flesh was cut he would not give way to his desire.

      “You're not angry at me—Bucky?” she asked softly.

      “No, I'm not angry at you.” His voice was cold because he dared not trust himself to let his tenderness creep into it.

      “I haven't done anything that I ought not to? Perhaps you think it wasn't—wasn't nice to—to come here with you.”

      “I don't think anything of the kind,” his hard voice answered. “I think you're a prince, if you want to know.”

      She smiled a little wanly, trying to coax him back into friendliness. “Then if I'm a prince you must be a princess,” she teased.

      “I meant a prince of good fellows.”

      “Oh!” She could be stiff, too, if it came to that.

      And at this inopportune moment the key turned harshly and the door swung open.

      Chapter 12.

       A Clean White Man's Option

       Table of Contents

      The light of a lantern coming down the steps blinded them for a moment. Behind the lantern peered the yellow face of the turnkey. “Ho, there, Americano! They want you up above,” the man said. “The generals, and the colonels, and the captains want a little talk with you before they hang you, senor.”

      The two soldiers behind the fellow cackled merrily at his wit, and the encouraged turnkey tried again.

      “We shall trouble you but a little time. Only a few questions, senor, an order, and then poco tiempo, after a short walk to the gallows—paradise.”

      “What—what do you mean?” gasped the girl whitely.

      “Never mind, muchacho. This is no affair of yours. Your turn will come later. Have no fear of that,” nodded the wrinkled old parchment face.

      “But—but he hasn't done anything wrong.”

      “Ho, ho! Let him explain that to the generals and the colonels,” croaked the old fellow. “And that you may explain the sooner, senor, hurry—let your feet fly!”

      Bucky walked across to the girl he loved and took her hands in his.

      “If I don't come back before three hours read the letter that I wrote you yesterday, dear. I have left matches on that bench so that you may have a light. Be brave, pardner. Don't lose your nerve, whatever you do. We'll both get out of this all right yet.”

      He spoke in a low voice, so that the guards might not hear, and it was in kind that she answered.

      “I'm afraid, Bucky; afraid away down deep. You don't half believe yourself what you say. I can't stand it to be here alone and not know what's going on. They might be—be doing what that man said, and I not know anything about it till afterward.” She broke down and began to sob. “Oh, I know I'm a dreadful little coward, but I can't be like you—and you heard what he said.”

      “Sho! What he says is nothing. I'm an American citizen, and I reckon that will carry us through all right. Uncle Sam has awful long arms, and these greasers know it. I'm expecting to come back here again, little pardner. But if I don't make it, I want you, just as soon as they turn you loose, to go straight to your father's ranch.”

      “Come! This won't do. Look alive, senor,” the turnkey ordered, and to emphasize his words reached a hand forward to pluck away the sobbing lad. Bucky caught his wrist and tightened on it like a vise. “Hands off, here!” he commanded quietly.

      The man gave a howl of pain and nursed his hand gingerly after it was released.

      “Oh, Bucky, make him let me go, too,” the girl wailed, clinging to his coat.

      Gently he unfastened her fingers. “You know I would if I could, Curly; but it isn't my say-so.”

      And with that he was gone. Ashen-faced she watched

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