Alaire's retreat was far from comfortable; there was an ants' nest
somewhere near her and she thought of moving; but suddenly her
breath caught and her heart jumped uncontrollably. She crouched
lower, for directly opposite her position, and outlined against
the sky where the sharp ridge cut it, was the figure of a mounted
man. Rider and horse were silhouetted against the pearl-gray
heaven like an equestrian statue. How long they had been there
Alaire had no faintest notion. Perhaps it was their coming which
had alarmed the cattle. She was conscious that a keen and hostile
pair of eyes was searching the coverts surrounding the charco.
Then, as silently as it had appeared, the apparition vanished
beyond the ridge, and Alaire wondered if the rider had taken
alarm. She earnestly hoped so; this breathless vigil was getting
on her nerves, and the sight of that threatening figure had set
her pulses to throbbing. The rider was on his guard, that was
plain; he was armed, too, and probably desperate. The ominous
possibilities of this ambush struck her forcibly.

Alaire lay close, as she had been directed, praying that the
horseman had been warned; but shortly she heard again the rustle
of stiff branches, and out into the opening rode a Mexican. He was
astride a wiry gray pony, and in the strong twilight Alaire could
see his every feature--the swarthy cheeks, the roving eyes beneath
the black felt hat. A carbine lay across his saddle-horn, a riata
was coiled beside his leg, a cartridge-belt circled his waist.
There was something familiar about the fellow, but at the moment
Alaire could not determine what it was.

After one swift appraising glance the new-comer rode straight to