"Good-morning, Miss Garcia," he said, bowing low, "won't you come in—now, Angy, do your duty or I'll beat you to death!" At this hasty aside Angevine Thorne did the honors, though with a bad grace. "Marcelina, this is Mr. Dalhart—you better go home now, your mother's callin' you." "I will not shake hands with a _Texano_!" pronounced Marcelina, stepping into the open and folding her arms disdainfully. "Come on in then and hear the music," suggested Pecos, peaceably. "Pah! The _Tehannos_ sing like coyotes!" cried Marcelina, twisting up her lips in derision. "They are bad, bad men—_mi madre_ say so. No, I go home—and when you are gone Babe will sing _sweet_ moosic for me." She bowed, with a little smile for Babe, and glided through the doorway; and though he lingered about until Old Crit came in, Pecos Dalhart failed to catch another glimpse of this new queen of his heart. It was dusk when Crittenden rode into camp, and at sight of Pecos Dalhart sitting by the fire the cowman's drawn face, pinched by hunger and hard riding, puckered up into a knot. "What you doin' down here?" he demanded, when he had beckoned him to one side. "Come down for my pay," responded the cowboy, briefly. "Your pay," fumed Crittenden, "your pay! What do you need with money up at Carrizo? Say, have you been gittin' many?" he whispered, eagerly. "Have they been comin' in on you?" "Sure thing. Branded forty-two cows, thirty calves, and sixteen twos. But how about it—do I draw?" "Only thirty calves! W'y, what in the world have you been doin'? I could pick up that many mavericks on the open range. You must've been layin' down under a tree!" "That's right," agreed Pecos, "and talkin' to myse'f, I was that lonely. But if you'll kindly fork over that eighty that's comin' to me we'll call it square, all the same—I only branded about a thousand dollars' worth of cows for you." "Eighty dollars!" cried Old Crit. "W'y, I never agreed to nothin' like that—I said I'd give you sixty. But I'll tell you what I'll do," he added, quickly, "I'll make it eighty if you'll go up there for another month." "After I git my first month's pay they will be time to discuss that," replied Pecos Dalhart, and after a thousand protestations the cowman finally went down into his overalls and produced the money. "Now what about next month?" he demanded, sharply. "Nope," said Pecos, pocketing his eighty dollars, "too lonely—too much trouble collectin' my pay—don't like the job." "Give you eighty dollars," urged Crit, "that's a heap o' money for one month." "Nope, this'll last me a while—so long." He started toward the corral but Crittenden caught him by the arm instantly. "Here, wait a minute," he rasped, "what's the matter with you anyhow? I'm ridin' early and late on my round-up and dependin' on you to finish this job up! You ain't goin' to quit me right in the middle of it, are you?"