“What American?” she asked quickly:  but already she knew by the swift beating of her heart.

“Senor Muir; the devil fly away with him,” replied the boy loyally.

Already his mistress was descending toward him with her sure stride, Don Manuel and his suit forgotten in the interest of this new development of the feud.  She made the boy go over the tale minutely, asking questions sometimes when she wanted fuller details.

Meanwhile, Manuel Pesquiera waited, fuming.  Most certainly this fellow Gordon was very much in the way.  Jealousy began to add its sting to the other reasons good for hastening his revenge.

When Valencia turned again to her cousin her eyes were starry.

“He is brave—­this man.  Is he not?” she cried.

It happened that Don Manuel, too, was a rider in a thousand.  He thought that Fate had been unkind to refuse him this chance his enemy had found.  But Pesquiera was a gentleman, and his answer came ungrudgingly: 

“My cousin, he is a hero—­as I told you before.”

“But you think him base,” she cried quickly.

“I let the facts speak for me,” he shrugged.

“Do they condemn him—­absolutely?  I think not.”

She was a creature of impulse, too fine of spirit to be controlled by the caution of speech that convention demands.  She would do justice to her foe, no matter how Manuel interpreted it.

What the young man did think was that she was the most adorable and desirable of earth’s dwellers, the woman he must win at all hazards.

“He came here a spy, under a false name.  Surely you do not forget that, Valencia,” he said.

“I do not forget, either, that we flung his explanations in his face; refused him the common justice of a hearing.  Had we given him a chance, all might have been well.”

“My cousin is generous,” Manuel smiled bitterly.

“I would be just.”

“Be both, my beloved, to poor Manuel Pesquiera, an unhappy wreck on the ocean of love, seeking in vain for the harbor.”

“There are many harbors, Manuel, for the brave sailor.  If one is closed, another is open.  He hoists sail, and beats across the main to another port.”

“For some.  But there are others who will to one port or none.  I am of those.”

When she left him it was with the feeling that Don Manuel would be hard hit, if she found herself unable to respond to his love.

He was not like this American, competent, energetic, full of the turbulent life of a new nation which turns easily from defeat to fresh victory.

Her heart was full of sympathy, and even pity, for him.  But these are only akin to love.

It was not long before Valencia began to suspect that she had not been told the whole truth about the affair of the outlaw horse.  There was some air of mystery, of expectation, among her vaqueros.

At her approach, conversation became suspended, and perceptibly shifted to other topics.  Moreover, Pedro was troubled in his mind, out of all proportion to the extent of his wound.