The Spider’s proffer of work was accepted, but Pete asserted that he would not leave Showdown until he had got his horse.

“I’ll see that you get him,” said The Spider.

“Thanks.  But I aim to git him myself.”

And it was shortly after this understanding that Pete sat in the patio back of the saloon—­waiting impatiently for Malvey to show up, and half-inclined to go out and look for him.  But experience had taught Pete the folly of hot-headed haste, so, like The Spider, he withdrew into himself, apparently indifferent to the loud talk of the men in the saloon, the raw jokes and the truculent swaggering, with the implication, voiced loudly by one half-drunken renegade, that the stranger was a short-horn and naturally afraid to herd in with “the bunch.”

“He’s got business of his own,” said The Spider.

“That’s different.  I ’poligish.”

The men laughed, and the bibulous outlaw straightway considered himself a wit.  But those who carried their liquor better knew that The Spider’s interruption was significant.  The young stranger was playing a lone hand, and the rules of the game called for strict attention to their own business.

Presently a Mexican strode in and spoke to The Spider.  The Spider called to a man at one of the tables.  The noisy talk ceased suddenly.  “One,” said The Spider.  “From the south.”

Pete heard and he shifted his position a little, approximating the distance between himself and the outer doorway.  Card-games were resumed as before when a figure filled the doorway.  Pete’s hand slid slowly to his hip.  His fingers stiffened, then relaxed, as he got to his feet.

It was Boca—­alone, and smiling in the soft glow of lamplight.  The Spider hobbled from behind the bar.  Some one called a laughing greeting.  “It’s Boca, boys!  We’ll sure cut loose to-night!  When Boca comes to town the bars is down!”

Pete heard—­and anger and surprise darkened his face.  These men seemed to know Boca too well.  One of them had risen, leaving his card-game, and was shaking hands with her.  Another asked her to sing “La Paloma.”  Even The Spider seemed gracious to her.  Pete, leaning against the doorway of the patio, stared at her as though offended by her presence.  She nodded to him and smiled.  He raised his hat awkwardly.  Boca read jealousy in his eye.  She was happy.  She wanted him to care.  “I brought your saddle, senor,” she said, nodding again.  The men laughed, turning to glance at Pete.  Still Pete did not quite realize the significance of her coming.  “Thanks,” he said abruptly.

Boca deliberately turned her back on him and talked with The Spider.  She was hurt, and a little angry.  Surely she had been his good friend.  Was Pete so stupid that he did not realize why she had ridden to Showdown?