prickly openings. Then he dismounted, dropped the roan's reins, and
proceeded on foot, stooping and silent, like an Indian. The roan,
knowing his part, stood still, making no sound.

The Kid crept noiselessly to the very edge of the pear thicket and
reconnoitred between the leaves of a clump of cactus.

Ten yards from his hiding-place, in the shade of the _jacal_, sat his
Tonia calmly plaiting a rawhide lariat. So far she might surely escape
condemnation; women have been known, from time to time, to engage in
more mischievous occupations. But if all must be told, there is to be
added that her head reposed against the broad and comfortable chest
of a tall red-and-yellow man, and that his arm was about her, guiding
her nimble fingers that required so many lessons at the intricate
six-strand plait.

Sandridge glanced quickly at the dark mass of pear when he heard
a slight squeaking sound that was not altogether unfamiliar. A
gun-scabbard will make that sound when one grasps the handle of a
six-shooter suddenly. But the sound was not repeated; and Tonia's
fingers needed close attention.

And then, in the shadow of death, they began to talk of their love;
and in the still July afternoon every word they uttered reached the
ears of the Kid.

"Remember, then," said Tonia, "you must not come again until I send
for you. Soon he will be here. A _vaquero_ at the _tienda_ [73] said
to-day he saw him on the Guadalupe three days ago. When he is that near
he always comes. If he comes and finds you here he will kill you. So,