ntly managed, would earn an
income satisfactory for a most extravagant princess royal such as its
present chatelaine seemed to Rhodes.

But he had noted dubiously that the management was neither intelligent
nor, he feared, square. The little rancherias scattered over it in the
fertile valleys, were worked on the scratch gravel, ineffective Mexic
method by the Juans and Pedros whose family could always count on
mesquite beans, and _camotes_ if the fields failed. There was seed to
buy each year instead of raising it. There was money invested in
farming machinery, and a bolt taken at will from a thresher to mend a
plow or a buggy as temporarily required. The flocks of sheep on the
Arizona hills were low grade. The cattle and horse outfits were south
in La Partida, and the leakage was beyond reason, even in a danger
zone of the border land.

All this Kit had milled around and around many times in the brief
while he had ranged La Partida. A new deal was needed and needed
badly, else Wilfreda Bernard would have debts instead of revenue if
Singleton let things drift much longer. Her impish jest that she was
a damsel in distress in need of a valiant knight was nearer to truth
than she suspected. He had an idiotic hungry desire to be that knight,
but his equipment of one horse, one saddle, and one sore head appeared
inadequate for the office.

Thus Kit Rhodes sat his horse and looked at her, and saw things other
than the red lips of the girl, and the chiding gray eyes, and the
frank regret at his going.

It was more profitable not to see that regret, or let it thrill a man
in that sweet warm way, especially not if the man chanced to be a
drifting ranger. She was only a gallant little girl with a genius for
friendships, and her loyalty to Pike extended to Pike's chum--that was
what Rhodes told himself!

"Yes," he agreed, "I was going without any tooting of horns. No use in
Cap Pike and me hanging around, and getting you in bad with your
outfit."

"As if I care!" she retorted.

"You might some day," he said quietly. "School may make a lot of
difference; that, and changed surroundings for a year or two. But some
day you will be your own manager, and if I'm still on the footstool
and can be of service--just whistle, senorita."

"Sure!" she agreed cheerfully. "I'll whistle the lark call, and you'll
know I need you, so that's settled, and we'll always be--be friends,
Trail-hunter."

"We'll always be friends, Lark-child."