they worked their way from the bunkhouse, making the most of
such cover as the chaparral afforded. Farther up they crossed the road
into the pasture and by way of it reached the orchard. Every inch of
the distance Roy sweated fear.

She was leading, ostensibly because she knew the lay of the land
better. Through the banked clouds the moon was struggling. Its light
fell upon her lithe, slender figure, the beautifully poised head, the
crown of soft black hair. She moved with the grace and the rhythm of a
racing filly stepping from the paddock to the track.

Beaudry had noticed, even in his anxiety, that not once since the
tapping on the window had her hand touched his or the sweep of her
skirt brushed against his clothes. She would save him if she could,
but with an open disdain that dared him to misunderstand.

They picked their course diagonally through the orchard toward the
canon. Suddenly Beulah stopped. Without turning, she swept her hand
back and caught his. Slowly she drew him to the shadow of an apple
tree. There, palm to palm, they crouched together.

Voices drifted to them.

"I'd swear I hit him," one said.

"Maybe you put him out of business. We got to find out," another
answered.

"I'll crawl up to the window and take a look," responded the first.

The voices and the sound of the man's movements died. Beulah's hand
dropped to her side.

"We're all right now," she said coldly.

They reached the gulch and slowly worked their way down its precipitous
sides to the bottom.

The girl turned angrily on Roy. "Why didn't you come after father
warned you?"

"I didn't get his warning till night. I was away."

"Then how did you get back up the arroyo when it was watched?"

"I--I wasn't out into the park," he told her.

"Oh!" Her scornful gypsy eyes passed over him and wiped him from the
map. She would not even comment on the obvious alternative.

"You think I've been up at Dan Meldrum's spying," he protested hotly.

"Haven't you?" she flung at him.

"Yes, if that's what you want to call it," came quickly his bitter
answer. "The man who has been my best friend is lying up there a
prisoner because he knows too much about the criminals of Huerfano
Park. I heard Meldrum threaten to kill him unless he promised what was
wanted of him. Why shouldn't I do my best to help the man who--"

Her voice, sharpened by apprehension, cut into his. "What man? Who
are you talking about?"

"I'm