Then he released his hold on her arms and, turning away without another glance in her direction, he strode from the glade. He took the gun he had repaired and set off down the river trail. When he got into the bottom lands of willow and cottonwood he glided noiselessly along, watching and listening for game of some kind. In the wide mouth of a wash not more than a mile from the village Adam halted to admire some exceedingly beautiful trees. The first was one of a species he had often noted there, and it was a particularly fine specimen, perhaps five times as high as his head and full and round in proportion. The trunk was large at the ground, soon separating into innumerable branches that in turn spread and drooped and separated into a million twigs and stems and points. Trunk and branch and twig, every inch of this wonderful tree was a bright, soft green color, as smooth as if polished, and it did not have a single leaf. As Adam gazed at this strange, unknown tree, grasping the nature of it and its exquisite color and grace and life, he wondered anew at the marvel of the desert. As he walked around to the side toward the river he heard a cry. Wheeling quickly, he espied Margarita running toward him. Margarita’s hair was flying. Blood showed on her white face. She had torn her dress. “Margarita!” cried Adam, as he reached her. “What’s the matter?” She was so out of breath she could scarcely speak. “Felix--he hide back there--in trail,” she panted. “Margarita watch--she know--she go round.” The girl labored under extreme agitation, which, however, did not seem to be fright. “Felix? You mean the Mexican who drew a knife on your father? The fellow I threw around--up at Picacho?” “_Si_--señor,” replied Margarita. “Well, what of it? Why does Felix hide up in the trail?” “Felix swore revenge. He kill you.” “Oh-ho!... So that’s it,” ejaculated Adam, and he whistled his surprise. A hot, tight sensation struck deeply inside him. “Then you came to find me--warn me?” She nodded vehemently and clung to him, evidently wearied and weakening. “Margarita, that was good of you,” said Adam, earnestly, and he led her out of the sun into the shade of the tree. With his handkerchief he wiped the blood from thorn scratches on her cheek. The dusky eyes shone with a vastly different light from the lurid hate of a few hours back. “I thank you, girl, and I’ll not forget it.... But why did you run out in the sun and through the thorns to warn me?” “Señor know now--he kill Felix before Felix kill him,” replied Margarita, in speech that might have been naïve had its simplicity not been so deadly.