he would not care to come riding
down that point as Jean had come; very well, then she would show Ramon
something.

"It isn't necessary, exactly," Luck explained further. "I can show you
at the top, looking down at the way Jean came; and then I can pick
you up on an easier trail. But if you want to do it, it will save some
cut-backs and put another little punch in here. Either way it's up to
you."

The voice of Annie-Many-Ponies did not rise to a higher key when she
spoke, but it had in it a clear incisiveness that carried her answer to
Ramon and made him understand that she was speaking for his ears.

"I come down with big punch," she said.

"Where Jean came? You're riding bareback, remember."

"No matter. I come down jus' same." And she added with a haughty tilt of
her chin, "That's easy place for me."

Luck eyed her steadfastly, a smile of approval on his face. "All right.
I know you've got plenty of nerve, Annie. You mount and ride up that
draw till you get to the ridge. Come up to where you can see camp over
the brow of the hill--sabe?--and then wait till I whistle. One whistle,
get ready to come down. Two whistles, you, come. Ride past camera, just
the way Jean did. You know you're following the white girl and trying to
catch up with her. You're a friend and you have a message for her, but
she's scared and is running away--sabe? You want to come down slow first
and pick your trail?"

"No." Annie-Many-Ponies started toward the pinto pony which was her
mount in this picture. "I come down hill. I make big punch for you. Pete
turn camera."

"You've got more nerve than I have, Annie," Jean told her good-naturedly
as she went by. "I'd hate to run a horse down there bareback."

"I go where Wagalexa Conka say." From the corner of her eye she saw the
quick frown of jealousy upon the face of Ramon, and her pulse gave an
extra beat of triumph.

With an easy spring she mounted the pinto pony, took the reins of her
squaw bridle that was her only riding gear, folded her gay blanket
snugly around her uncorseted body and touched the pinto with her
moccasined heels. She was ready--ready to the least little tensed nerve
that tingled with eagerness under the calm surface.

She rode slowly past luck, got her few final instructions and a warning
to be careful and to take no chances of an accident--which brought that
inscrutable smile to her face; for Wagalexa Conka knew, and she knew
also, that in the mere act of riding