The dry humour of this brought a twinkle into the Easterner's gray eyes. He took the hat from her outstretched gloved hand, but paused with it half raised to his close-cropped head. "If you'll permit me ... my name is Lennon--Jack Lennon--mining engineer." "Engineer is all right, but can you shoot?" queried the girl. "I have had pretty good luck with running deer. This is my first man." "All right, Mr. Lennon. I'm going up to look for signs. Come along if you want to." "No, you must stay here. I insist----" But the girl was already swinging away up the bed of the arroyo, her spurs jingling on the stones. Lennon started to block the way but changed his mind when he perceived her amused smile. Instead of trying to stop her, he attempted to take the lead. The girl quickened her pace. He had lowered more than one record in his college track meets; but the girl was accustomed to rough ground, and he was not. She was still side by side with him when he dashed up around the bend in the arroyo. Both held their rifles ready to fire as they rushed the rear ledges of the jagged crag. From the upper side the slopes around were all open to view. Lennon came to a panting halt and stared about in frank surprise. He had fully expected to see the limp form of a dead Apache lying on the rocks. The girl sprang past him into a niche of the crag and bent to pick up a cartridge shell. "A thirty-two," she said. "Same calibre as my rifle.... And look at this track--Apache-made moccasin. Easy to tell the print from that of a Pima or Moqui." To Lennon the track was only a small narrow blur. "I was right," added the girl. "No trace of blood. You scored a clean miss and the bird has flown. All safe around here now, but may be dangerous on the trail ahead. Happens I know that a bunch of bronchos are loose over this way. They're looking for trouble." "Bronchos? You mean wild horses--mustangs?" "No--Apaches. Renegades are called bronchos. What do you figure on doing now, with your burro dead? Out prospecting, I noticed by your outfit. What were you heading up this way for, anyhow? The agents don't want prospectors on the Moqui or Navaho reservations." "But I didn't intend to cross the boundary," explained Lennon. "About seventy miles on around this trail bend, I was to strike in eastward to a three-towered mountain. Old friend of mine discovered a big copper vein there in the early 'Nineties. A party of Indians ran him out of the country and so maimed him that he never could return." "Why, that must be Cripple Sim and his----" The girl checked herself and tightened her lips. "Well, what you going to do about it? Hike back to the railroad?" "Certainly--to get another burro. We might return together for mutual protection, unless you'd rather trust to your pony's heels." The girl looked him up and down with sharp appraisal. There was no hint of timidity in his smile.