The warning was needless. Lennon had not stirred in his saddle or made the slightest attempt to struggle.
"Who's the liar now, Cochise?" reproached Carmena. "You said you'd wait till Slade came."
"I catch your pard. I keep him till Slade come. Then I have my fun. You swap my woman for him, I let him go now."
The girl smiled.
"Maybe you'll let him go anyway, amigo. I've got you covered, and I figure the first bullet will go through that pie you just ate."
The glittering black eyes of the Apache shot a sidelong glance down toward the girl's right hand. It had slipped into a pocket in the fold of her divided skirt. Her smile widened.
"Think it over," she advised. "What happens to us won't be any fun to you after you've got yours."
The steel-sinewed fingers that were clutched about Lennon's wrist opened.
"All dam' good joke—arm handshake," the Apache sought to explain away his treacherous attempt. "Make sure you got nerve. Sabe? Guess I got to go. Good-bye."
"Oh, do stay and visit a bit longer," Carmena smilingly urged him. "We can talk a while with you and Pete. But the others may as well be starting, don't you think?"