“Do I understand that Mr. Gordon declines to meet my friend on the field of honor?”

“That’s the size of it.”

“I am then instruct’ to warn you to go armed, as my friend will punish your insolence at sight informally.”

It was just at this moment that Mrs. Corbett, flushed with the vain chase of her fleeing brood of chickens, came perspiring round the house.  Her large, round person, not designed by nature for such arduous exercise, showed signs of fatigue.

“I declare, if them chickens ain’t got out, and me wanting two for supper,” she panted, arms on her ample hips.

“That’s too bad.  Let me chase them,” volunteered Dick.

He grasped his rifle, took a quick, careless aim, and fired.  A long-legged, flying cockerel keeled over and began to kick.

“Gracious me!” ejaculated the woman.

“Two, did you say?” asked the man behind the gun.

“I said two.”

Again the rifle cracked.  A second chicken flopped down, this one with its head shot off at the neck.

The eyes of the minister of war were large with amazement.  The distance had been seventy yards, if it had been a step.  When little Jimmie Corbett came running forward with the two dead cockerels a slight examination showed that the first had also been shot through the neck.

Dick smiled.

“Shall I shoot another and send it for a present to Don Manuel, Jimmie?” he pleasantly inquired.

Mr. Ainsa met his persiflage promptly.

“I do assure you, senor, it will not be at all necesair.  Don Manuel can shoot chickens for himself—­and larger game.”

“I’m sure he’ll find good hunting,” the other gave him back, looking up genially.

“He is a good hunter, senor.”

“Don’t doubt it a bit,” granted the cordial Anglo-Saxon.  “Trouble is that even the best hunters can’t tell whether they are going to bring back the bear, or Mr. Bear is going to get them.  That’s what makes it exciting, I reckon.”

“Is Don Manuel going bear-hunting?” asked Jimmie, with a newly aroused boy interest.

“Yes, Jimmie.  One’s been bothering him right considerable, and he’s going gunning for it,” explained Dick.

“Gee!  I hope he gets it.”

“And I hope he don’t,” laughed Gordon.  “Must you really be going, colonel?  Can’t I do a thing for you in the refreshment line first?  Well, so long.  Good hunting for your friend.  See him later.”

Thus cheerfully did the irrepressible Gordon speed Mr. Ainsa on his way.

That young man had somehow the sense of having been too youthful to cope with the gay Gordon.

* * * * *

Valencia Valdes had not ridden far when she met Ramon Ainsa returning from his mission.  He was a sunny young fellow, whom she had known since they had been children together.

It occurred to her that he bore himself in a manner that suggested something important on hand.  His boyish mouth was set severely, and he greeted her with a punctilio quite unusual.  At once she jumped shrewdly to a conclusion.