Perhaps even now the telegraph might be anticipating her! Had Poindexter thought of that?
She hesitated no longer, but laying the whip on the back of her jaded mustang again hurried forward.
As the level horizon grew more distinct, her attention was attracted by the white sail of a small boat lazily threading the sinuous channel of the slough.

It might be Poindexter arriving by the more direct route from the steamboat that occasionally lay off the ancient embarcadero of the Los Cuervos Rancho.

But even while watching it her quick ear caught the sound of galloping hoofs behind her.

She turned quickly and saw she was followed by a horseman.

But her momentary alarm was succeeded by a feeling of relief as she recognized the erect figure and square shoulders of Poindexter.