"That was a shot," said Carter, watching her face.
"But it wouldn't hurt Jimsy or Juan. They're nearly here! That was far away, wasn't it, Carter?" Still her bright serenity held fear at bay.
"Not very far, Honor." He wanted to see that calm of hers broken up; he wanted cruelly to make her sense the danger.
"But, Cartie," she explained to him, patiently, "you know nothing is going to happen to Jimsy now, when I've just begun really to care for him!" She opened the door and stepped out on the veranda, and he followed her. "See—it's almost morning!" The east was gray and there was a drowsy twittering of birds.
"It's the false dawn," said Carter stubbornly. "Listen—" another shot rang out, then three in quick succession. "I believe they're chasing Juan!"
The Mexican who was on guard held up a hand, commanding them to listen. They held their breath. Through the soft silence they began to get the sound of running feet, stumbling feet, running with difficulty, and in another moment, up the green lane came Yaqui Juan, bent almost double with the weight of Jimsy King across his back.
"Honor!" Carter tried to catch her. "Come back! You mustn't—Are you crazy?"
But Honor and the Mexican who had been on guard at the steps were running, side by side, to meet them. Yaqui Juan flung a word to the peón and he stood with his gun leveled, covering the path.
"Mira!" said the Indian, proudly. "Señorita, I have brought back your man!"
"Skipper," cried Jimsy King in a strong voice, "get in the house! Get in! I'm all right!"