The tinkle of hoofs from the river bed in the gulch below rose through the clear air. The Mexican moved swiftly to the door and presently waved a handkerchief.
“What gent are you wig-wagging to now?” Luck asked from the bed. “Thought I knew all you bold bad bandits by this time. Or is it Cass back again?”
“Yes, it’s Cass. There’s someone with him too. It is a woman,” the Mexican discovered in apparent surprise.
“A woman!” Luck took the cigar from his mouth in vague unease. “What is he doing here with a woman?”
The Mexican smiled behind his open hand. “Your question anticipates mine, Señor. I too ask the same.”
The sight of his daughter in the doorway went through the cattleman with a chilling shock. She ran forward and with a pathetic cry of joy threw herself upon him where he stood. His hands were tied behind him. Only by the turn of his head and by brushing his unshaven face against hers could he answer her caresses. There was a look of ineffable tenderness on his face, for he loved her more than anything else on earth.
“Mr. Fendrick brought me,” she explained when articulate expression was possible.
“He brought you, did he?” Luck looked across her shoulder at his enemy, and his eyes grew hard as jade.
“Of my own free will,” she added.
“I promised you a better argument than those I’d given you. Miss Cullison is that argument,” Fendrick said.