“You drop mail at the greaser settlement?” inquired Ashby in his peremptory and incisive manner.

“Yes, sir,” quickly responded the young man; and then volunteered:  “It’s a tough place.”

Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with: 

“Know a girl there named Nina Micheltorena?”

But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl interposed scornfully: 

“Nina Micheltorena?  Why, they all know ‘er!  She’s one o’ them Cachuca girls with droopy, Spanish eyes!  Oh, ask the boys about ’er!” And with that she started to leave the room, stopping on her way to clap both Trinidad and Sonora playfully on the back.  “Yes, ask the boys about ’er, they’ll tell you!” And so saying she fled from the room, followed by the men she was poking fun at.

“Hold her letters, you understand?” instructed Ashby who, with the Sheriff, was alone now with The Pony Express.

“Yes, sir,” he replied earnestly.  A moment later there being no further orders forthcoming he hastily took his leave.

Ashby now turned his attention to Rance.

“Sheriff,” said he, “to-night I expect to see this Nina Micheltorena either here or at The Palmetto.”

Rance never raised an eyebrow.

“You do?” he remarked a moment later with studied carelessness.  “Well, the boys had better look to their watches.  I met that lady once.”

Ashby shot him a look of inquiry.

“She’s looking to that five thousand reward for Ramerrez,” he told him.

Rance’s interest was growing by leaps and bounds though he continued to riffle the cards.

“What?  She’s after that?”

“Sure thing.  She knows something . . .”  And having delivered himself of this Ashby strode over to the opposite side of the room where his coat and hat were hanging upon an elk horn.  While putting them on he came face to face with the Girl who, having merely glanced in at the dance-hall, was returning to take up her duties behind the bar.  “Well, I’ll have a look at that greaser up the road,” he said, addressing her, and then went on half-jocularly, half-seriously:  “He may have his eye on the find in that stocking.”

“You be darned!” was the Girl’s parting shot at him as he went out into the night.

There was a long and impressive pause in which, apparently, the Sheriff was making up his mind to speak of matters scarcely incident to the situation that had gone before; while fully conscious that she was to be asked to give him an answer—­she whose answer had been given many times—­the Girl stood at the bar in an attitude of amused expectancy, and fussing with things there.  At length, Rance, glancing shyly over his shoulder to make sure that they were alone, became all at once grave and his voice fell soft and almost caressingly.

“Say, Girl!”

The young woman addressed stole a look at him from under her lashes, all the while smiling a wise, little smile to herself, but not a word did she vouchsafe in reply.