nd as Billie lifted
her head and looked at him drowsily over the edge of the wagon bed he
realized that in the vital things of life all was well with his
world.

"Let Sheba run your camp, and run it to hell, will you?" went on Cap
Pike accusingly. He was thrashing around among the growth back of
the Soledad outfit wagon where the mules had been tethered.
"Two--four--six, and Baby Buntin'--yes sir! Lit out by the dark of
the moon, and left neither hide nor hair,--"

"Oh, be reasonable, Cap!" protested Kit. "Buntin' isn't gone--she's
right alongside here, waiting for breakfast."

"You're shoutin' she's here; so is every dragged-to-death skate you
hit camp with! It's Billie's crackerjack mules, the pick of the ranch,
that the bare-legged greasy heathen hit the trail with! And every
water bag!"

"Well," decided Kit, verifying the water statement by a glance at the
barrels, "no one is to blame. The boy didn't want to come this trail.
He stuck until we were over the rough of it, and then he cut loose. A
pair of mules isn't so bad."

"Now, of course not!" agreed Cap sarcastically. "A mere A-number-one
pair of mules belonging to another fellow is only a flea bite to offer
a visitor for supper! Well, all _I_ got to say----"

"Don't say it, Cap dear," suggested Billie. "The Indian was here
because of Dona Jocasta, and _she_ can't help it! As she doesn't
understand English, she'll probably think you're murdering some of us
over here. Whist now, and put your muzzle on! We'll get home without
the two mules. I'll go and tell her that the hysterics is your way of
offering morning prayers!"

She slipped away, laughing at his protests, but when a little past the
fire place she halted, standing very still, peering beyond at
something on the ground under the greasewood where the _serape_ of
Dona Jocasta had been spread. No _serape_ or sleeper was there!

Kit noted her startled pause, and in a few strides was beside her;
then, without a word, the two went forward together and he picked up
the package of papers laid carefully under the greasewood. He knew
without opening them what they were,--the records made for her safety,
and for his, in Soledad, place of tragedies.

"They are the papers I was to put on record for her in case--Well,
I'll do it, and you'll take care of the copies for her, Billie,
and--and do your best for the girl if a chance ever comes. We owe her
a lot more than she will ever guess,--our gold come out of Mex