He went to bed and lay for a long time thinking of Helen May out there in that two-roomed adobe cabin, with a fifteen-year-old boy for protection and miles of wilderness between her and any other human habitation.  It was small comfort then to Starr that she had the dog.  One bullet can settle a dog, and then—­Starr could not look calmly at the possibility of what might happen then.

“They’ve no business out there like that, alone!” he muttered, rising to an elbow and thumping his hard pillow viciously.  “Good Lord!  Haven’t they got any folks?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE WIND BLOWS MANY STRAWS

Soon after daylight, Rabbit snorted and ran a little way down the corral toward the cabin.  Starr, trained to light sleeping and instant waking, was up and standing back from the little window with his six-shooter in his hand before Rabbit had stopped to whirl and look for what had scared him.  So Starr was in time to see a “big four” Stetson hat with a horsehair hatband sink from sight behind the high board fence at the rear of the corral.

Starr waited.  Rabbit shook his head as though he were disgusted with himself, and began nosing the ground for the wisps of hay which a high wind had blown there.  Starr retreated to a point in the room where he could see without risk of being seen, and watched.  In a few minutes, when the horse had forgotten all about the incident and was feeding again, the Stetson hat very cautiously rose once more.  Under its gray brim Starr saw a pair of black eyes peer over the fence.  He watched them glancing here and there, coming finally to rest upon the cabin itself.  They watched Rabbit, and Starr knew that they watched for some sign of alarm rather than from any great interest in the horse:  Rabbit lifted his head and looked that way boredly for a moment before he went back to his feeding, and the eyes lifted a little, so that the upper part of the owner’s face came into view.  A young Mexican, Starr judged him, because of his smooth skin around the eyes.  He waited.  The fellow rose now so that the fence came just below his lips, which were full and curved in the pleasant lines of youth.  His eyes kept moving this way and that, so that the whites showed with each turn of the eyeball.  Starr studied what he could see of the face.  Thick eyebrows well formed except that the left one took a whimsical turn upward; heavy lashes, the high, thin nose of the Mexican who is part Indian—­as are practically all of the lower, or peon class—­that much he had plenty of time to note.  Then there was the mouth, which Starr knew might be utterly changed in appearance when one saw the chin that went with it.

A hundred young fellows in San Bonito might answer equally well a description of those features.  And the full-crowned gray Stetson may be seen by the thousand in at least four States; and horsehair hatbands may be bought in any saddlery for two or three dollars—­perhaps for less, if one does not demand too long a pair of tassels—­and are loved by Indians and those who think they are thus living up to the picturesque Old West.  So far as he could see, there was nothing much to identify the fellow, unless he could get a better look at him.