"Good!" breathed Hooker, as he rose in his stirrups and looked. "Why good?" she demanded curiously. "The's only three of 'em," answered Bud. "I was afraid they might be in front," he explained, as she gazed at him with a puzzled smile. "Yes," she said; "but what will you do if they catch us?" "They won't catch us," replied Hooker confidently. "Not while I've got my rifle. Aha!" he exclaimed, still looking back, "now we know all about it--that sorrel is Manuel del Rey's!" "And will you kill him?" challenged Gracia, rousing suddenly at the name. Hooker pretended not to hear. Instead, he cocked his eye up at the eastern mountain, whence from time to time came muffled rifle-shots, and turned his horse to go. There was trouble over there to the east somewhere--Alvarez and his Yaquis, still harrying the retreating rebels--and some of it might come their way. "Ah, how I hate that man!" raged Gracia, spurring her horse as she scowled back at the galloping Del Rey and his men who were riding onward rapidly. "All right," observed Bud with a quizzical smile, "I'll have to kill him for you then!" She gazed at him a moment with eyes that were big with questioning, but the expression on his rugged face baffled her. "I would not forget it," she cried impulsively. "No, after all I have suffered, I think I could love the man who would meet him face to face! But why do you--ah!" she cried, with a sudden tragic bitterness. "You smile! You have no thought for me--you care nothing that I am afraid of him! Ah, _Dios_, for a man who is brave--to rid me of this devil!" "Never mind!" returned Bud, his voice thick with rising anger. "If I kill him it won't be for _you_!" He jumped Copper Bottom ahead to avoid her, for in that moment she had touched his pride. Yes, she had done more than that--she had destroyed a dream he had, a dream of a beautiful woman, always gentle, always noble, whom he had sworn to protect with his life. Did she think he was a _pelado_ Mexican, a hot-country lover, to be inflamed by a glance and a smile? Then Phil could have her! "Ah, Bud!" she appealed, spurring up beside him, "you did not understand! I know you are brave--and if he comes"--she struck her pistol fiercely--"I will kill him myself!" "Never mind," answered Bud in a kinder voice. "I'll take care of you. Jest keep your horse in the trail," he added, as she rode on through the brush, "and I'll take care of Del Rey." He beckoned her back with a jerk of the head and resumed his place in the lead. Here was no place to talk about men and motives. The mountain above was swarming with rebels, there were _rurales_ spurring behind--yes, even now, far up on the eastern hillside, he could see armed men--and now one was running to intercept them!