he towered above her, yet his voice
trembled like that of a frightened child.

"An' d-don't yer say that n-no more," he stuttered in awkwardness.
"Somehow it hurts. L-Lord! yer don't h-have ter be s-s-so blame good
ter be u-up ter my level. Th-they don't b-breed no a-angels back in
ol' M-Missouri, whar I come from. It's m-mostly mules thar, an' I
r-reckon we all g-git a bit mulish an' ornery. B-but I 'spect I 'm
d-decent 'nough ter know the r-right sort o' girl when I s-stack up
agin her. So I don't w-want ter hear no m-more 'bout yer not b-bein'
good. Ye 're sure g-good 'nough fer me, an' th-that 's all thar is to
it. Now, yer w-won't say that no more, w-will yer?"

"No, senor," she answered simply, "I no say dat no more."

He remained standing before her, shifting uneasily from one foot to the
other, a great hulk in the gloom.

"Mercedes," he managed to say finally, "Ye're a-g-goin' ter ride away,
an' m-maybe thar'll be o-one hell o' a fracas up yere afore the rest o'
us g-g-git out o' this scrape. I d-don't reckon as it'll b-be me as
will git h-hurt, but somehow I 'd f-feel a heap better if you 'd j-jest
say them words what I a-asked yer to afore yer g-go, little g-girl; I
would that."

She put her hands to her face, and then hid it against the pony's neck,
her slight form trembling violently beneath the touch of his fingers.
The strange actions of the girl, her continued silence, half frightened
him.

"Maybe yer a-ain't ready yit?" he questioned, his manner full of
apology.

"Oh, senor, I cannot say dat--sure I cannot," she sobbed, her face yet
hidden. "Maybe I say so some time ven I know eet bettah how eet ought
to be; si, maybe so. But not now; I not tink it be jus' right to say
now. I not angry--no, no! I ver' glad you tink so of Mercedes--it
make me mooch joy. I not cry for dat, senor; I cry for odder tings.
Maybe you know some time, an' be ver' sorry vid me. But I not cry any
more. See, I stan' up straight, an' look you in de face dis vay." She
drew her hand swiftly across her eyes. "Dar, de tear all gone; now I
be brav', now I not be 'fraid. You not ask me dat now--not now;
to-morrow, nex' veek, maybe I know better how to say de trut' vat vas
in my heart--maybe I know den; now eet all jumble up. I tink I know,
but de vord not come like I vant eet."

He turned silently away from her, leading the pony forward, his head
bent low, his shoulders stooped. There was a dejection apparent