"Like me? Well, the kind of girl I am is this—I'm going home. I've no mind to back up. Good-bye, Mr. Jack Lennon."
He was beside her again before she had reached the bed of the arroyo.
"I have a compass," he said. "Perhaps I'll get to your ranch even if your pony outruns me. Only trouble, I can't lug both tools and food."
The girl stopped short to draw off her glove and offer him her strong white hand.
"I'm Carmena Farley. I don't like rattlers, coyotes, or quitters."
"I may prove to be a quitter, Miss Farley, but I'd like at least to be entered for the game."
The dark-eyed daughter of Arizona looked at him searchingly.
"You will be risking the highest of all stakes—your life," she warned.
Lennon smiled. "Oh, no; not the highest. There are other things more precious."
"Maybe," she assented. "But not everybody would agree with you."