Suddenly a detached stone rattled in their front; there echoed the sharp click of a rifle hammer, mingled with the sound of a gruff, unfamiliar voice: "You come another step, an' I 'll blow hell out o' yer.

_Sabe_ ?" It all occurred so quickly that neither spoke; they caught their breath and waited in suspense.

A shadow, dim, ill-defined, seemed to take partial form in their front.
"Well, can't yer speak ?" questioned the same voice, growlingly.

"What yer doin' on this yere trail ?" Mercedes released the pony's bit, and leaned eagerly forward.
"Vas dat you, Beell Heeks ?" she questioned, doubtfully.
The man swore, the butt of his quickly lowered rifle striking sharply against the rock at his feet.
"I 'm damned if it ain't that Mexican agin," he exclaimed, angrily.
"Now, you get out o' yere; you hear me?
I 'm blamed if I kin shoot at no female, but you got in one measly spyin' job on this outfit, an' I 'll not put up with another if I have ter pitch ye out inter the canyon.

So you git plum out o' yere, an' tell yer friend Farnham he better take more care o' his females, or some of 'em are liable ter get hurt." There was the harsh crunch of a footstep in the darkness, another figure suddenly slid down the smooth surface of rock, dropping almost at the pony's head.