Then she bowed her head and wept quietly to herself and as I could not bear to see her thus and do nothing to console her, I very softly rose to steal out. I knew myself a spectator, not an actor in this affair. Out into the red-gold evening I went and looked across the brown, rolling plain and Apache followed me and then George came after us and said quietly to him: "What game is this you are playing?" Apache Kid turned to him. "Be guided," he said, "by a woman’s intuition. You saw that she knew I was playing no game." And then he said very quietly: "Are you aware, George, that if I wished I could steal her away from you?" The breath sucked into George’s nostrils in a series of little gasps and came forth similarly. "I believe you are a devil," he said. "And if it was n’t for her, I ’d finish our other little matter right now." "We will let that rest—for her sake," said Apache Kid. "Still, tell me, are you aware of that? Do you know that I am master here?" George’s face was pale under the sun-brown. We were standing there in that fashion when there was a sound of slow hoofs in the sand and three ponies came ploughing along the road, an old, dry-faced Indian riding behind the string. "You want to buy a horse?" he asked. Apache Kid looked up. "Well, we might trade," said he. "How much you want for them two, this and that?" "Heap cheap," said the Indian. "Ten dollah." "For two?" "No, ten dollah for one, ten dollah for one." "It’s a trade then," said Apache Kid. "Will you lend me twenty dollars, Francis?" I glanced at George and saw him looking dazed, uncomprehending. I think the Indian was surprised there was no attempt to beat down the price and regretted he had not asked more. When Apache Kid paid for the horses he gave me the halters to hold, stood absently a moment with puckered brows and biting lips, then drew a long breath and stepped into the house again. George did not follow but stood looking over the plain. "What is his game?" said George. "I do not know," said I, "but whatever it is you may be sure it is nothing mean." George meditated and then: "No, I guess not," he said. "He’s too deep for me, though. I don’t understand him. Did he ever tell you our little trouble?" "No," said I. "Neither will I, then," said he, "and I guess he never will." "I would n’t think of asking him," said I. "And he would n’t think of telling," replied George. And just then Apache Kid came out and Miss Pinkerton with him. I think it was as well that the verandah was in shadow. "George," she said, and I at least caught a tremble in her voice. "Ain’t this too bad? Apache Kid tells me that he has just reckoned on pulling out right away,—says he never meant to stay here over night. I wanted to lend him two of our mounts, but he says he ’s got these two from an Indian, and they ’ll serve. Do you think you could get a pair of saddles turned out?" "Ce’t’inly," said George; and away he went to rout out the saddles.