"Then tell 'em the truth," said Rathburn smilingly. "Tell 'em a man with a horse branded CC2 was here an' kidded you about your freckles, had something to eat, an' rode away. Don't lie, sonny, no matter what happens." The girl took a step toward the table. "You--_are_--The Coyote?" she asked in a whisper. "My name is Rathburn, miss," he replied cheerfully. "In some ways I'm a lot like the man described in that reward notice. An' I'm riding a dun-colored horse branded CC2. I don't like that monicker, Coyote, or I might 'fess up to it." "Then--if you're him--you're an outlaw!" she stammered. Rathburn's dreamy look shifted to the boy who was staring at him. "You'll grow up to be quite a man, son," he said in a fatherly tone. "Those freckles mean a tough skin. A weak sort of skin tans quick an' the toughest just sunburns. You're halfway between. That's all right for freckles; but it don't go in life. It's best to be on one side or the other, an' the right side's the best for most folks." He rose and went for his hat. Then he extracted a roll of bills from a hip pocket and laid a five-dollar note on the table. "That meal was worth it," he said to the girl with a smile. She shook her head. "I--I couldn't take it," she said. "That's clean money, miss. I earned it circumventin' three of the most ornery card sharps in Arizona." She continued to shake her head. "You do not understand," she murmured. "It--it wouldn't make any difference. We couldn't take money from a stranger who came to us--hungry. It wouldn't make any difference who you were." "Aw, we need it, sis!" blurted out the boy. "The Coyote's all right. He wouldn't lie to us." Rathburn laughed and, stepping to the boy, ran his fingers in his hair. "I guess I've made a friend," he said in a wistful voice. Then he picked up the bill on the table and stuffed it into the boy's pocket. His eyes encountered the poster again and they clouded. He turned away from it. "Miss, you'll let me thank you--sure." She nodded, retreating a few paces. "Then I'll be going," he said, stepping to the door. "To--to Dry Lake?" she found the voice to ask. "Yes. To Dry Lake." He left the house and in a few minutes reappeared from the direction of the barn, riding his dun-colored horse. He did not stop, but galloped down the valley, waving a hand in farewell which the boy answered. The day was nearly spent. The sun was low in the west, sliding down like a ball of gold toward the rim of the blue mountains. A stiff breeze had sprung up, driving the heat before it. At the lower end of the valley Rathburn found the trail he had left when he detoured to the ranch. He turned westward upon it, put spurs to his horse, and sped toward town. It was just as well that the girl could not see the look which came to his face as he rode into the sunset. CHAPTER III THE LAW