Curiously enough, this apparently proper request was responsible for changing the whole aspect of things.  For, keenly desirous to oblige him, though she was, there was something in the stranger’s eyes as they now rested upon her that made her feel suddenly shy; a flood of new impressions assailed her:  she wanted to evade the look and yet foster it; but the former impulse was the stronger, and for the first time she was conscious of a growing feeling of restraint.  Indeed, some inner voice told her that it would not be quite right for her to leave the stage.  True, she belonged to Cloudy Mountain Camp where the conventions were unknown and where a rough, if kind, comradery existed between the miners and herself; nevertheless, she felt that she had gone far enough with a new acquaintance, whose accent, as well as the timbre of his voice, gave ample evidence that he belonged to another order of society than her own and that of the boys.  So, hard though it was not to accede to his request and, at the same time, break the monotony of her journey with a few minutes of berry-picking with him in the fields, she made no move to leave the stage but answered the questioning look of the obliging driver with a negative one.  Whereupon, the latter, after declaring to the young Californian that the stage was late as it was, called to his horses to show what they could do in the way of getting over the ground after their long rest.

The young man’s face clouded with disappointment.  For two hundred yards or more he spoke not a word, though he spurred his horse in order to keep up with the now fast-moving stage.  Then, all of a sudden, as the silence between them was beginning to grow embarrassing, the Girl made out the figure of a man on horseback a short distance ahead, and uttered an exclamation of surprise.  The stranger followed the direction of the Girl’s eyes and, almost instantly, it was borne in upon them that the horseman awaited their coming.  The Girl turned to speak, but the tender, sorrowful expression that she saw on the young man’s face kept her silent.

“That is one of my father’s men,” he said, somewhat solemnly.  “His presence here may mean that I must leave you.  The road to our ranch begins there.  I fear that something may be wrong.”

The Girl shot him a look of sympathetic inquiry, though she said nothing.  To tell the truth, the first thought that entered her mind at his words was one of concern that their companionship was likely to cease abruptly.  During the silence that preceded his outspoken premonition of trouble, she had been studying him closely.  She found herself admiring his aquiline features, his olive-coloured skin with its healthful pallor, the lazy, black Spanish eyes behind which, however tranquil they generally were, it was easy for her to discern, when he smiled, that reckless and indomitable spirit which appeals to women all the world over.

As the stage approached the motionless horseman, the young man cried out to the vaquero, for such he was, and asked in Spanish whether he had a message for him; an answer came back in the same language, the meaning of which the Girl failed to comprehend.  A moment later her companion turned to her and said: