Boca eyed him with a new interest.  She had thought that perhaps this young senor had but stolen a horse or two—­a most natural inference in view of his recent associate.  So this young vaquero was a boy in years only?—­and outlawed!  No doubt there was a reward for his capture.  Boca had lightly fancied Young Pete the evening before; but now she felt a much deeper interest.  She quickly cautioned him to say nothing to her father about the real reason for his being there.  Rather Pete was to say, if questioned, that he had stolen a horse about which Malvey and he had quarreled.

Pete scowled.  “I’m no low-down hoss-thief!” he flared.

Boca smiled.  “Now it is that I know you have killed a man!”

Pete was surprised that the idea seemed to please her.

“But my father”—­she continued—­“he would sell you—­for money.  So it is that you will say that you have stolen a horse.”

“I reckon he would,”—­and Pete gently felt the back of his head.  “So I’ll tell him like you say.  I’m dependin’ a whole lot on you—­to git me out of this,” he added.

“You will rest,” she told him, and turned to go back to her work.  “I am your friend,” she whispered, pausing with her finger to her lips.

Pete understood and nodded.

So far he had done pretty well, he argued.  Later, when he felt able to ride, he would ask Boca to find a horse for him.  He knew that there must be saddle-stock somewhere in the canon.  Men like Flores always kept several good horses handy for an emergency.  Meanwhile Pete determined to rest and gain strength, even while he pretended that he was unfit to ride.  When he did leave, he would leave in a hurry and before old Flores could play him another trick.

For a while Pete watched the three figures puttering about the bean-patch.  Presently he got up and stepped into the house, drank some coffee, and came out again.  He sat down on the bench and took mental stock of his own belongings.  He had a few dollars in silver, his erratic watch, and his gun.  Suddenly he bethought him of his saddle.  The sun made his head swim as he stepped out toward the corral.  Yes, his saddle and bridle hung on the corral bars, just where he had left them.  He was about to return to the shade of the portal when he noticed the tracks of unshod horses in the dust.  So old Flores had other horses in the canon?  Well, in a day or so Pete would show the Mexican a trick with a large round hole in it—­the hole representing the space recently occupied by one of his ponies.  Incidentally Pete realized that he was getting deeper and deeper into the meshes of The Spider’s web—­and the thought spurred him to a keener vigilance.  So far he had killed three men actually in self-defense.  But when he met up with Malvey—­and Pete promised himself that pleasure—­he would not wait for Malvey to open the argument.  “Got to kill to live,” he told himself.  “Well,