"I didn't know--I thought, perhaps,--" She tried a new start. "Did you say that three of them were Mexicans?" "Two of them," he corrected. There was the least quiver of her lip. "The others were--both big men, didn't you say?" "I didn't say." A footstep sounded on the crisp gravel walk. Steve looked up, in time to catch the flash of warning menace Harrison sent toward the girl. "Mr. Yeager has been having a pipe-dream, Ruth. Don't wake him up," jeered the heavy. Ruth fled unobtrusively and left the men alone. "Hear you're going on a vacation," said Harrison gruffly. "You've heard correct." Yeager pleated his hatband with steady fingers. His voice was even and placid. Harrison looked him over with indolent insolence. "Some folks find this climate don't agree with them. Some folks find it better to drift out, casual-like, y' understand?" "Yes?" "I'm tellin' it to you straight." "That you're going to leave? The Lunar Company will miss you," suggested the range-rider politely. "Think you're darned clever, don't you? It's you that's leaving the company, Mr. Yeager." "For a week." "For good." "Hadn't heard of it. News to me," answered Steve lightly. "I'm givin' you the tip. See?" "Oncet I knew a fellow who lived to be 'most ninety minding his own business," observed the cowpuncher to the world in general as he held up and examined his work. "It ain't considered safe to get gay with me. I'm liable to lam your head off," threatened the big man sullenly. "And then again you're liable not to. I'm not freightin' with your outfit, Mr. Harrison. Kindly lay off of me and you'll find we get along fine." Steve rose and passed on his way to the street. Harrison was in two minds whether to force an issue again with him, but something in the contour of that close-gripped jaw, in the gleam of the steady eyes, was more potent than the dull rage surging in him. He let the opportunity pass. Four Bits carried Yeager away from Los Robles at a road gait. Horse and rider were taking the border trail. It led them through a desolate country of desert where the flat-leafed prickly pear and the occasional pudgy creosote were the chief forms of vegetable life. Now and again a swift might be seen basking on a rock or a Gila monster motionless on the hillside. The ominous buzz of a rattler more than once made the pony sidestep. Mesa and flat and wash succeeded each other monotonously. It was after sunset when they drew up at a feed corral in Arixico. Steve looked after his horse and sauntered down the little adobe street to a Chinese restaurant which ostentatiously announced itself as the "New York Cafe." This side of the business street was in the territory of Uncle Sam, the other half floated the Mexican flag. After he had eaten, the young man drifted across to one of the gambling-houses that invited the patronage of Americans and natives alike.