“I’ll begin to practice with that,” declared Alison, “and I will protect your horses so well that you will find every one when you come back. I think Christine would stand to her guns if any one offered to lay hands on Hero, and Lou hasn’t a bit of fear in her. If Pedro can come we shall get along nicely, for he is the decentest old Greaser I know.” Her hopes in this direction were realized, for Pedro returned with Neal, and after a long talk which took place down at the little cabin, it was arranged that he should take charge while John was away, bringing his young daughter and establishing himself in the deserted cabin; it was comfortable and sufficiently well furnished for persons more particular than Pedro Garcia. The old Mexican arrived, bag and baggage, the next day, his pretty daughter with her wonderful dark eyes and her wealth of hair being at once the admiration of Alison, who pounced upon her and bore her triumphantly to the house to display her to Christine. Late in the afternoon John and Neal started to join Jack Hays and his Texas Rangers. Bowie-knives in order, pistols in belts, rifles across knees, they rode away. Bravely though Alison had given her help, had seen to every detail of her brother’s outfit and had sent him off with a smile, as he disappeared from sight she rushed from the house to a little hiding-place in the chaparral and there concealed herself till the sun was low in the west and the green trees along the river course whispered in the evening breeze. No one should behold her in this hour of trouble. Perchance an inquisitive jack-rabbit might lift his long ears and peer at her from his cover, or an impertinent prairie dog might peep from his hole to observe the intruder, but the world of human things should not witness her in tears. CHAPTER V IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT As she lay in the shelter of her hiding-place, her grief so subdued that only a sigh once in a while escaped her, Alison heard a rustling in the thicket. Who could have discovered her lair? Neal had cut away for her the thick tangle of vine, bush, and thorn, the undergrowth which made up the chaparral, and she had called it her fortress. Only Neal and herself knew the way to it, for the path was cleverly cleared beyond a group of trees standing by the road, and one must needs climb one of the trees and drop from a lower limb before the spot could be reached. Alison started to her feet at sound of the intruder. It might be a prowling coyote or other woods creature, for evening was approaching when the wild things of the forest were bolder. But it was nothing wilder than Lolita who had found her out and who smiled at her over the top of the thicket saying caressingly: “Pobrecita! Ella no es feliz. You make a cry?” she asked hesitatingly. Alison shook her head but Lolita pointed to her own eye and nodded emphatically. “The weep, I see him,” she said.