Had she not been warned of Snake le Vasquez, the outlaw--his base
threat to win her by fair means or foul? Had not Buck Benson
himself, that strong, silent man of the open, begged her to beware
of the half-breed? Perhaps she had resented the hint of mastery in
Benson's cool, quiet tones as he said, "Miss St. Clair, ma'am, I beg
you not to endanger your welfare by permitting the advances of this
viper. He bodes no good to such as you."

Perhaps--who knows?--Estelle St. Clair had even thought to trifle
with the feelings of Snake le Vasquez, then to scorn him for his
presumption. Although the beautiful New York society girl had
remained unsullied in the midst of a city's profligacy, she still
liked "to play with fire," as she laughingly said, and at the quiet
words of Benson--Two-Gun Benson his comrades of the border called
him--she had drawn herself to her full height, facing him in all her
blond young beauty, and pouted adorably as she replied, "Thank you!
But I can look out for myself."

Yet she had wandered on her pony farther than she meant to, and was
not without trepidation at the sudden appearance of the picturesque
halfbreed, his teeth flashing in an evil smile as he swept off his
broad sombrero to her. Above her suddenly beating heart she sought
to chat gayly, while the quick eyes of the outlaw took in the
details of the smart riding costume that revealed every line of her
lithe young figure. But suddenly she chilled under his hot glance
that now spoke all too plainly.

"I must return to my friends," she faltered. "They will be anxious."
But the fellow laughed with a sinister leer. "No--ah, no, the lovely