Once more the least of pauses. "Mine is Diller--James Diller." "That's funny. I know another man of that name. At least, I know him by sight." The man who had called himself Diller grew wary. "It's a common enough name." "Yes. If I find you work at my father's ranch would you be too particular about what it is?" "Try me." "And your memory--is it inconveniently good?" Her glance swept as by chance over the scene of her recent operations. "I've got a right good forgettery, too," he assured her. "You're not in the habit of talking much about the things you see." She put it in the form of a statement, but the rising inflection indicated the interrogative. His black eyes met hers steadily. "I can padlock my mouth when it is necessary," he answered, the suggestion of a Southern drawl in his intonation. She wanted an assurance more direct. "When _you_ think it necessary, I suppose." "That is what I meant to say." "Come. One good turn deserves another. What about this?" She nodded toward the dead cow. "I have not seen a thing I ought not to have seen." "Didn't you see me blot a brand on that calf?" He shook his head. "Can't recall it at all, Miss Lee." Swiftly her keen glance raked him again. Judged by his clothes, he was one of the world's ineffectives, flotsam tossed into the desert by the wash of fate; but there was that in the steadiness of his eye, in the set of his shoulders, in the carriage of his lean-loined, slim body that spoke of breeding. He was no booze-fighting grubliner. Disguised though he was in cheap slops, she judged him a man of parts. He would do to trust, especially since she could not help herself. "We'll be going. You take my horse," she ordered. "And let you walk?" "How long since you have eaten?" she asked brusquely. "About seven minutes," he smiled. "But before that?" "Two days." "Well, then. Anybody can see you're as weak as a kitten. Do as I say." "Why can't we both ride?" "We can as soon as we get across the pass. Until then I'll walk." Erect as a willow sapling, she took the hills with an elastic ease that showed her deep-bosomed in spite of her slenderness. The short corduroy riding skirt and high-laced boots were made for use, not grace, but the man in the saddle found even in her manner of walking the charm of her direct, young courage. Free of limb, as yet unconscious of sex, she had the look of a splendid boy. The descending sun was in her sparkling hair, on the lank, undulating grace of her changing lines. Active as a cat though it was, the cowpony found the steep pass with its loose rubble hard going. Melissy took the climb much easier. In the way she sped through the mesquit, evading the clutch of the cholla by supple dips to right and left, there was a kind of pantherine litheness. At the summit she waited for the horse to clamber up the shale after her.