“We won’t,” Tod agreed much too easily. “I won’t tell him.” Hilda ran along the path a few steps when a saw-edged shriek from behind stopped her, turned her. There was Jinnie throwing herself bodily on her brother, pounding him fiercely, while he ducked and dodged the best he could—it was against family rules for him to hit back at Jinnie. “Yes, he will tell!” squealed Jinnie. “Buvver Fayte’s goin’ to give him a korter-money for tellin’!” She grabbed at Tod’s hay-colored hair; he pulled free and ran. “Git him! Git him! He said he wouldn’t tell—and he’s running right now to tell Buvver Fayte— and get ’at korter-money!” “What’s the matter, kids?” It was Pearse, leading his pony. Hilda turned to him instantly, crying out, “Oh, Pearse—you won’t let it go like this, will you? Everybody ought to be told just how it was.” “What’s the use?” Pearse came close and took her hand. “Fayte knows how it was. The other boys know. The colonel could find out—if he wanted to. You and I don’t care. You’ll see that Marchbanks will pay old man Hipp for his steer. That’ll show he knows whose fault it all was.” “Yes—and Maybelle. I thought she’d say something,” said Hilda. “Oh—here you are, Hilda,” Mrs. Marchbanks came up, Jinnie at her heels. Tod had found some one to tell, if not Fayte. “Run back, Jinnie. Get your face washed, dear. We’re going to start home in a few minutes. I want to talk to Hilda.” Pearse, lifting his hat, led his pony past them, then checked and looked back to where Mrs. Marchbanks was already pulling Hilda down beside her on a fallen log. “I’ll see you on the way home, Hilda,” he said quietly and went on. “Well”—Mrs. Marchbanks stared after him with an offended air—“he doesn’t seem to have any doubts about what he’ll do, does he?” Hilda was silent. Mrs. Marchbanks looked around at her and began hastily with a speech that sounded as though it had been prepared. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to make trouble by the way you’ve behaved with this Pearse Masters. You’re just young and thoughtless. Fayte’s got a heart of gold, and he’s perfectly devoted to you. But he’s hot-headed, and if you—” “I wish you wouldn’t talk to me this way, Mrs. Marchbanks,” Hilda protested. “But a beautiful, fascinating girl like you has a great responsibility, Hilda; sometimes the very salvation of one of her boy friends may depend on her.” “Oh, please don’t!” Hilda got up; Mrs. Marchbanks got up with her, still talking urgently as they started slowly back. “You could make anything of this boy of ours. A little wild—any high-spirited boy is—but he only needs steadying down. You be nice to him, Hilda. Be kind to him.” CHAPTER XXVIII THE CLOSING OF A DOOR The six young people on their ponies came stragglingly together at Alamositas headquarters. They checked there a little awkwardly, as though waiting for the big family carriage to come up.