Raquel shuddered. For the first time in her wild, free life, on range of desert and mountain, it all seemed bitterly cruel to her. She turned away with undisguised dislike; all the elation of the morning and her glorious ride vanished. “Aw, go on, Rakie. You haf to do it.” Georgie read his sister’s expression. “Think of all the stock that fellow has had off our range. Why, one of these lions will eat thirty cows, sixty sheep and heaven knows how many calves, every season.” Angel was staying to bring back the pelt, after he had skinned it. It was already growing dark in the canyon. It was after four o’clock, but it seemed as if they had started out only two or three hours ago. All at once every one remembered the sandwiches, for which they had had no thought before. Those generous slices of bread were immensely heartening, and yet, somehow, as they picked their way down the canyon, Raquel was silent and depressed. Then the faithful and gallant boys, her knights of the roundup, set up a rollicking tune, singing Raquel’s fame to the words of _The Pecos Queen_, caroling right lustily as they rode along: “Where the Pecos River winds and turns on its journey to the sea, From its white walls of rock and sand striving ever to be free, Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have seen, Dwells fair young Raquel Daniels, the Pecos River Queen. “She is known to every cowboy on the Pecos River wide, They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and ride, She goes to every roundup, every cow work without fail, Looking out for her cattle branded, ‘walking hog on rail.’ “She made her start in cattle, yes, made it with her rope, Can tie down every maverick before it strikes a lope, She can rope and tie and brand it, as quick as any man, She’s voted by all the cowboys, an A-1 top cowhand.” And so singing the hunters came back to the ranch, the tired horses breaking into a mad gallop as soon as they came in sight of the corral. The next morning Pancho Esquibal came to Raquel where she was throwing rope down in the feeding corral, limbering up, getting into practice for the spring work. “May I have the keys to the garage shed, Señorita?” he inquired courteously. “I think it would be safer to hang the skin of the lion in there.... That is the best place,” he added, after a few moments during which Raquel, coiling and hurling her reata, gave no evidence of having heard him at all. Esquibal waited. There is nothing so disconcerting as to be ignored. Raquel knew this well, partly from instinct and a natural wit in dealing with people, partly from experience. A curious, furtive look came into Esquibal’s eyes. He looked at the _padroncita_ suspiciously. Raquel had kept the keys to the supply house and to the garage sheds in her own pockets ever since the incident of the oil cans. Now she turned suddenly while Pancho was still off guard and glanced swiftly at him.