el in every way worthy of her
love? Her finger touched the diamond ring upon her hand. She would keep
faith in thought as well as in word and deed.

At last she fell asleep--and dreamed of a blond, gray-eyed youth
fighting for his life against a swarm of attacking Mexicans.

CHAPTER XX

DICK LIGHTS A CIGARETTE

Gordon met Miss Valdes in the El Tovar dining-room next morning. He was
trying at the same time to tell Davis the story of his kidnaping and to
eat a large rare steak with French-fried potatoes. The young man had
chosen a seat that faced the door. The instant his eyes fell upon her he
gave up both the story and the steak. Putting aside his napkin, he rose
to meet her.

She had fallen asleep thinking of him, her dreams had been full of his
vivid personality, and she had wakened to an eager longing for the sight
of his gay, mocking eyes. But she had herself under such good control
that nobody could have guessed how fast her heart was beating as her
fingers touched his.

"We are glad your adventure is ended, Mr. Gordon, and that it has turned
out no worse. Probably Mr. Davis has told you that he and I got our
heads together a great many times a day," she said, a little formally.

"You were mighty good to take so much interest in such a scalawag," he
answered warmly.

The color deepened ever so little in her face. "I couldn't let my men
commit murder under the impression they were doing me a service," she
explained lightly. "There are several things I want to talk over with
you. Can you call on me this morning, Mr. Gordon?"

"Can I?"

He put the question so forcefully that she smiled and dashed a bucket of
cold water over his enthusiasm.

"If you'll be so good then. And bring Mr. Davis along with you, please.
He'll keep us from quarreling too much."

"I'll throw him out of the window if he don't behave right," Davis
promised joyfully. He was happy to-day, and he did not care who knew it.

Valencia passed on to her table, and Dick resumed his seat. He had a
strong interest in this young woman, but even the prospect of a talk
with her could not make him indifferent to the rare steak and
French-fried potatoes before him. He was a healthy normal American in
his late twenties, and after several days of starvation well-cooked food
looked very good to him.

"There's some mail waiting for you upstairs--one of the letters is a
registered one, mailed at Corbett's," his friend told him as they rose
to