The girl dropped the reins of her skittish, snorting pony and picked up Lennon's new sombrero. Through the middle of the high peak was a neatly drilled bullet hole.
"Poor shot—for an Apache," she said. "Good, though, for ventilation."
The dry humour of this brought a twinkle into the Easterner's gray eyes. He took the hat from her outstretched gloved hand, but paused with it half raised to his close-cropped head.
"If you'll permit me ... my name is Lennon—Jack Lennon—mining engineer."
"Engineer is all right, but can you shoot?" queried the girl.
"I have had pretty good luck with running deer. This is my first man."
"All right, Mr. Lennon. I'm going up to look for signs. Come along if you want to."
"No, you must stay here. I insist——"
But the girl was already swinging away up the bed of the arroyo, her spurs jingling on the stones. Lennon started to block the way but changed his mind when he perceived her amused smile. Instead of trying to stop her, he attempted to take the lead. The girl quickened her pace.
He had lowered more than one record in his college track meets; but the girl was accustomed to rough ground, and he was not. She was still side by side with him when he dashed up around the bend in the arroyo.