on she imparted.

"The wire's been cut," said Florence. Her gray glance swept swiftly
after Alfred, who was now far out of earshot. "I don't like this a
little bit. Heah's where I've got to 'figger,' as Bill says."

She pondered a moment, then hurried into the house, to return presently
with the field-glass that Alfred had used. With this she took a survey
of the valley, particularly in the direction of Madeline's ranch-house.
This was hidden by low, rolling ridges which were quite close by.

"Anyway, nobody in that direction can see us leave heah," she mused.
"There's mesquite on the ridges. We've got cover long enough to save us
till we can see what's ahead."

"Florence, what--what do you expect?" asked Madeline, nervously.

"I don't know. There's never any telling about Greasers. I wish Bill and
Al hadn't left us. Still, come to think of that, they couldn't help us
much in case of a chase. We'd run right away from them. Besides, they'd
shoot. I guess I'm as well as satisfied that we've got the job of
getting home on our own hands. We don't dare follow Al toward Don
Carlos's ranch. We know there's trouble over there. So all that's left
is to hit the trail for home. Come, let's ride. You stick like a Spanish
needle to me."

A heavy growth of mesquite covered the top of the first ridge, and the
trail went through it. Florence took the lead, proceeding cautiously,
and as soon as she could see over the summit she used the field-glass.
Then she went on. Madeline, following closely, saw down the slope of the
ridge to a bare, wide, grassy hollow, and onward to more rolling land,
thick with cactus and mesquite. Florence appeared cautious, deliberate,
yet she lost no time. She was ominously silent. Madeline's misgivings
took definite shape in the fear of vaqueros in ambush.

Upon the ascent of the third ridge, which Madeline remembered was the
last uneven ground between the point she had reached and home, Florence
exercised even more guarded care in advancing. Before she reached the
top of this ridge she dismounted, looped her bridle round a dead snag,
and, motioning Madeline to wait, she slipped ahead through the mesquite
out of sight. Madeline waited, anxiously listening and watching. Certain
it was that she could not see or hear anything alarming. The sun began
to have a touch of heat; the morning breeze rustled the thin mesquite
foliage; the deep magenta of a cactus flower caught her eye; a
long-tailed, cruel-beaked