so keenly, or of
another man who was very much alive indeed. Perhaps she scarcely knew
herself. At all events it was only a momentary little breakdown. Pulling
herself together, she returned to the living-room, carrying the big
six-shooter half hidden by her skirts, and managed to slip it, apparently
unseen, on a little stand above which hung the telephone to Las Vegas
camp. By this time the water was boiling, and having made tea, she carried
the pot back to the big table and sat down opposite Mrs. Archer.

For a minute or two she was busy with the cups and had no occasion to
observe her aunt's expression. Then, chancing to glance across the table,
she was dismayed to find the older woman regarding her with searching
scrutiny.

"Well?" questioned Mrs. Archer briefly. "What is it?"

Mary stared at her guiltily. "What's--what?" she managed to parry.

"Why beat about the bush?" retorted her aunt. "Something's happened to
frighten you. I can see that perfectly well. You know how I detest being
kept in the dark, so you may as well tell me at once."

Mary hesitated. "But it--it may not--come to anything," she stammered. "I
didn't want to--to frighten you--"

"Rubbish!" An odd, delicately grim expression came into the little old
lady's face. "I'd rather be frightened unnecessarily than have something
drop on me out of a clear sky. Out with it!"

Then Mary gave in and was conscious of a distinct relief in having a
confident.

"It's only this," she said briefly. "When I went to close the back kitchen
window a little while ago, I saw a--a face looking out of that little
window above the harness-room. Some one's--hiding there."

For an instant Mrs. Archer's delicately pretty, faded face turned quite
pale. Then she rallied bravely.

"Who--who was it?" she asked in a voice not altogether steady.

"I--don't know. It disappeared at once. But I'm sure it wasn't
imagination."

For a moment or two her aunt sat thinking. Then she glanced quickly across
the room. "Is that gun loaded?" she asked.

The girl nodded; she had ceased to be surprised at anything. For a space
Mrs. Archer regarded her untouched cup of tea thoughtfully. When she
looked up a bright spot of pink was glowing in each wrinkled cheek.

"It's not pleasant, but we must face it," she said. "It may be Pedro, or
even Maria. Both of them are cowards. On the other hand it may be Lynch.
There's no use shutting one's eyes to possibilities."

Abruptly she rose and