by right of an old Spanish grant. He was standing in the shadow of the ledge,
leaning against it as they of sun-saturated New Mexico always lean against
anything perpendicular and solid near which they happen to stand. He was
watching the white-lighted arroyo while he smoked, waiting for her,
unconscious of her near presence.

Annie-Many-Ponies stood almost within reach of him, but she did not make her
presence known. With the infinite wariness of her race she waited to see what
he would do; to read, if she might, what were his thoughts--his attitude
toward her in his unguarded moments. That little, inscrutable smile which so
exasperated Applehead was on her lips while she watched him.

Ramon finished that cigarette, threw away the stab and rolled and lighted
another. Still Annie-Many-Ponies gave no little sign of her presence. He
watched the arroyo, and once he leaned to one side and stared back at his own
quiet camp on the slope that had the biggest and the wildest mountain of that
locality for its background. He settled himself anew with his other shoulder
against the rock, and muttered something in Spanish--that strange, musical
talk which Annie-Many-Ponies could not understand. And still she watched him,
and exulted in his impatience for her coming, and wondered if it would always
be lovelight which she would see in his eyes.

He was not of her race, though in her pride she thought him favored when she
named him akin to the Sioux. He was not of her race, but he was tall and he
was straight, he was dark as she, he was strong and brave and he bad many
cattle and much broad acreage. Annie-Many-Ponies smiled upon him in the dark
and was glad that she, the daughter of a chief of the Sioux, had been found
good in his sight.

Five minutes, ten minutes. The coyote, yap-yap-yapping in the broken land