An hour before she had burned with hatred of him, she had wished him dead and sought the man who would kill him. Now that his life had been snipped off between two heart-beats she remembered him with pity and muttered a prayer for his soul. For Hooker, for De Lancey, she had no thought, but only for the dashing young captain who had followed her to his death. Of this Bud had no knowledge. He realized only that she was growing weaker, and that he must call a halt, and at last, when the walls of their pass had widened and they rode out into the open plain, he turned aside from the trail and drew rein by a clump of mesquit. "Here, let me take you," he said, as she swayed uncertainly in the saddle. She slid down into his arms and he laid her gently in the shade. "Poor girl," he muttered, "it's been too much for you. I'll get some water and pretty soon you can eat." He unslung the canteen from his saddle-flap, gave her a drink, and left her to herself, glancing swiftly along the horizon as he tied out their mounts to graze. But for her faintness he would have pushed on farther, for he had seen men off to the east; but hunger and excitement had told upon her even more than the day-and-night ride. For a woman, and sitting a side-saddle, she had done better than he had hoped; and yet--well, it was a long way to the border and he doubted if she could make it. She lay still in the shade of the mesquit, just as he had placed her, and when he brought the sack of food she did not raise her head. "Better eat something," he suggested, spreading out some bread and dried beef. "Here's some oranges I got from Don Juan--I'll jest put them over here for you." Gracia shuddered, sighing wearily. Then, as if his words had hurt her, she covered her face and wept. "What did you tell that man?" she asked at last. "W'y--what man?" inquired Hooker, astonished. "Ain't you going to eat?" "No!" she cried, gazing out at him through her tears, "not until I know what you said. Did you tell that Indian to--to kill him?" She broke down suddenly in a fit of sobbing, and Hooper wiped his brow. "W'y, no!" he protested. "Sure not! What made you think that?" "Why--you rode over and spoke to him--and he looked at me--and then--he--killed him!" She gave way to a paroxysm of grief at this, and Bud looked around him, wondering. That she was weak and hungry he knew, but what was this she was saying? "I reckon I don't understand what you're driving at," he said at last. "Wish you'd eat something--you'll feel better." "No, I won't eat!" she declared, sitting up and frowning. "Mr. Hooker," she went on very miserably, "what did you mean this morning when you--laughed? I said I hated poor Manuel--and you said--well, what you did--and then you laughed! Did you think--oh, you couldn't have--that I really wanted him killed?"