"I've had several," acknowledged Dick, his eyes again on the hat. "There won't be anybody to blame but myself."
"You know who shot at you. I saw it in your face. Tell me, and I will see that he is punished," she urged.
Dick shook his head imperturbably.
"No; I reckon that wouldn't do. I'm playing a lone hand. You're on the other side. How can I come and ask you to fight my battles for me? That wouldn't be playing the game. I'll attend to the young man that mistook me for a rabbit."
"Very well. As you like. But you are quite mistaken if you think I asked on your account. He had disobeyed my orders, and he deserved to pay for it. I have no further interest in the matter."
"Certainly. I understand that. What interest could Miss Valdés have in a spy and a cheat?" he drawled negligently.
The young woman flushed, made as if to speak, then turned away abruptly.
She touched her pony with the spur, and as it took the outside of the slanting, narrow trail, its hoof slipped on loose gravel and went over the edge. Dick's arm went out like a streak of lightning and caught the rein.
For an instant the issue hung in doubt whether he could hold the bronco and save her a nasty fall. The taut muscles of his lean arm and body grew rigid with the strain before the animal found its feet and the path.
"Thank you," the young woman said quietly, and at once disengaged the rein from his fingers by a turn of the pony's head.