“Mr. Grayson,” he said, “I have made it a point never to interfere with you; but I am going to ask you now not to pursue Mr. Bridge. I shall be glad if he makes good his escape. Barbara was right--he is a fellow-American. We cannot turn him over to Villa, or any other Mexican to be murdered.” Grumblingly Grayson unsaddled. “Ef you'd seen what I've seen around here,” he said, “I guess you wouldn't be so keen to save this feller's hide.” “What do you mean?” asked the boss. “I mean that he's ben tryin' to make love to your daughter.” The older man laughed. “Don't be a fool, Grayson,” he said, and walked away. An hour later Barbara was strolling up and down before the ranchhouse in the cool and refreshing air of the Chihuahua night. Her mind was occupied with disquieting reflections of the past few hours. Her pride was immeasurably hurt by the part impulse had forced her to take in the affair at the office. Not that she regretted that she had connived in the escape of Bridge; but it was humiliating that a girl of her position should have been compelled to play so melodramatic a part before Grayson and his Mexican vaqueros. Then, too, was she disappointed in Bridge. She had looked upon him as a gentleman whom misfortune and wanderlust had reduced to the lowest stratum of society. Now she feared that he belonged to that substratum which lies below the lowest which society recognizes as a part of itself, and which is composed solely of the criminal class. It was hard for Barbara to realize that she had associated with a thief--just for a moment it was hard, until recollection forced upon her the unwelcome fact of the status of another whom she had known--to whom she had given her love. The girl did not wince at the thought--instead she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I am proud of him, whatever he may have been,” she murmured; but she was not thinking of the new bookkeeper. When she did think again of Bridge it was to be glad that he had escaped--“for he is an American, like myself.” “Well!” exclaimed a voice behind her. “You played us a pretty trick, Miss Barbara.” The girl turned to see Grayson approaching. To her surprise he seemed to hold no resentment whatsoever. She greeted him courteously. “I couldn't let you turn an American over to General Villa,” she said, “no matter what he had done.” “I liked your spirit,” said the man. “You're the kind o' girl I ben lookin' fer all my life--one with nerve an' grit, an' you got 'em both. You liked thet bookkeepin' critter, an' he wasn't half a man. I like you an' I am a man, ef I do say so myself.” The girl drew back in astonishment. “Mr. Grayson!” she exclaimed. “You are forgetting yourself.” “No I ain't,” he cried hoarsely. “I love you an' I'm goin' to have you. You'd love me too ef you knew me better.” He took a step forward and grasped her arm, trying to draw her to him. The girl pushed him away with one hand, and with the other struck him across the face.