Miss Donovan doubted the evidence of her own eyes, half convinced that
she slept. It was Moore's voice which aroused her.
"Mendez must have got back, Joe," he said eagerly. "There are horses
and cattle over yonder."
The other pushed up the canvas and looked out.
"That's right. Must just got here, or there'd 'a' been a guard up
above. The fellow is comin' now--see?"
He was loping along carelessly, Mexican from high hat to jingling
spurs, sitting the saddle as though moulded there, a young fellow, dark
faced, but with a livid scar along one cheek.
"Juan Cateras, the little devil," muttered Sikes, as the rider drew
nearer. "There's some pot brewing if he is in it."
The rider drew up his horse, and lifted his hat, his smiling lips
revealing a row of white teeth.
"A pleasant day, _senor_," he said graciously, his dark eyes searching
the faces of the two men, and then dwelling with interest on the woman.
"Ah, your pardon, _senorita_; your presence is more than welcome here."
He rested one hand on the wagon box, the expression of his face
hardening.
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