“Oh!” Carolyn June gasped, as the horses met and she saw the Ramblin’ Kid, his gun still in his hand, standing beside Captain Jack.

There was a brief, questioning silence.

“What th’ hell!” he breathed.

“What the—­’hell—­yourself!” she laughed nervously.  “Is—­this—­is this a hold-up?”

“What are you doin’ here—­this time of night—­an’ on that filly?” he asked without heeding her question.

“I’m riding that—­this—­filly!” Carolyn June shot back independently.  “And what are you doing here—­at this time of—­Oh,” she added, before he could answer, “I—­I—­believe my saddle’s slipping!” and she swung lightly from the back of the outlaw mare.

“That filly’ll kill you,” he began.

“She will not!” Carolyn June interrupted with a pout.  “I—­I—­guess you’re not the only one, Mister ‘Nighthawk,’ that knows the way to the heart of a horse!  If you were just as wise about—­” but she stopped, her blush hidden as she turned her back to the rising moon.

“They was made for each other!” the Ramblin’ Kid muttered to himself.  Then he spoke aloud:  “I reckon you know,” he said slowly, “why I’m ridin’ at night—­about me killin’ Sabota—­I’m leavin’—­”

“But Sabota isn’t dead,” she interrupted again.  “You don’t need to go away!”

“Sabota ain’t dead!” the Ramblin’ Kid exclaimed.  “Then I’ll go back to Eagle Butte instead of—­Mexico!”

“Why?” Carolyn June asked.

“To finish th’ job!” and his voice was dangerously soft.

“You can’t finish it,” she laughed.  “He isn’t in Eagle Butte!  The Greek has gone away and—­well, it—­it—­was a good ’job’—­good enough the way you did it!  I—­I—­don’t want you ‘teetotally’ to kill him—­clear, all the way dead,” she stammered.  “The way it is you—­you—­won’t have to—­leave!”

“What’s th’ difference?” he said dully.  “It’s time I was ramblin’ anyhow!”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, Ramblin’ Kid,” she broke in, “I—­I—­know all about everything—­about what started the fight—­”

“You do?” looking quickly and keenly at her.  “Who told you?”

“Skinny,” she answered; “he saw it.  Said it was a pale pink ribbon or something with a little silver ‘do-funny’ on it!” she finished with a laugh.

“I—­I—­reckon you want it back, then?” the Ramblin’ Kid said, reaching to his left breast.  “You wouldn’t want—­”

“Did I say I wanted it?” Carolyn June questioned naively.

“And I know,” she hurried on, “about you being drugged the day of the race!  Why didn’t you say you were sick?  We—­we—­thought you were drunk!”

“Nobody asked me,” he answered without interest.

“Does everybody have to—­to—­ask you everything?” she questioned suggestively.  “Don’t you ever—­ever—­’ask’ anybody anything yourself?”

“What are you tryin’ to do?” he said almost brutally, “play with me like you played with them other blamed idiots th’ night of th’ dance?”