here while he shot at you."

"He never touched me."

She disengaged herself from his arms and looked at him, wan, haggard,
unshaven, eyes sunken, a tattered wretch scarred with burns.

"What have you done to yourself?" she asked, astonished at his
appearance.

"Souvenirs of the fire," he told her. "They'll wash and wear off. Don't
suppose I look exactly pretty."

He had never looked so handsome in her eyes.

CHAPTER XLV

JOYCE MAKES PIES

Juan Otero carried the news back to Malapi. He had been waiting on the
crest of the hill to see the issue of the adventure and had come forward
when Dave gave him a signal.

Shorty brought Keith in from where he had left the boy in the brush. The
youngster flew into his sister's arms. They wept over each other and she
petted him with caresses and little kisses.

Afterward she made some supper from the supplies Doble had laid in for
his journey south. The men went down to the creek, where they bathed and
washed their wounds. Darkness had not yet fallen when they went to sleep,
all of them exhausted by the strain through which they had passed.

Not until the cold crystal dawn did they awaken. Joyce was the first up.
She had breakfast well under way before she had Keith call the still
sleeping men. With the power of quick recuperation which an outdoor life
had given them, both Shorty and Dave were fit for any exertion again,
though Sanders was still suffering from his burns.

After they had eaten they saddled. Shorty gave them a casual nod of
farewell.

"Tell Applegate to look me up in Mexico if he wants me," he said.

Joyce would not let it go at that. She made him shake hands. He was in
the saddle, and her eyes lifted to his and showered gratitude on him.

"We'll never forget you--never," she promised. "And we do so hope you'll
be prosperous and happy."

He grinned down at her sheepishly. "Same to you, Miss," he said; and
added, with a flash of audacity, "To you and Dave both."

He headed south, the others north.

From the hilltop Dave looked back at the squat figure steadily
diminishing with distance. Shorty was moving toward Mexico, unhasting and
with a certain sureness of purpose characteristic of him.

Joyce smiled. It was the first signal of unquenchable youth she had
flashed since she had been trapped into this terrible adventure. "I
believe you admire him, Dave," she mocked. "You're just as grateful to
him as I am, but you won't admit it. He's not