Once more she scanned the sweltering expanse of sagebrush, scant grass, many rock patches and much sand.  She saw a rider moving along a shallow watercourse, and immediately she focused her glasses upon him.  She gave an ejaculation of surprise when the powerful lenses annihilated nine tenths of the distance between them.  One would judge from her manner and her tone that, while she had not been surprised to see a rider, that rider’s identity was wholly unexpected.

She watched him until, having reached a certain place where a group of cottonwoods shaded the gully, he stopped and dismounted to fuss with his cinches.  Mary V could not be sure whether he was merely killing time, or whether he really needed to tighten the saddle; but when another rider appeared suddenly from the eastward, she did know that the first rider showed no symptoms of surprise.

She did not know the second arrival at the cottonwoods.  She could see that he was Mexican, and that was all.  The two talked together with much gesturing on the part of the Mexican, and sundry affirmative nods on the part of the first rider.  The Mexican frequently waved a hand toward the south—­toward Sinkhole Camp, perhaps.  They seemed to be in a hurry, Mary V thought.  They did not tarry more than five minutes before they parted, the Mexican riding back toward the east, the first rider returning westward.  He had come cautiously, at an easy pace.  He went back riding at a long lope, as though time was precious to him.

Mary V watched until she saw him emerge out of that hollow and duck into another which led toward the northwest and, if he followed it, would bring him out near the head of Dry Gulch, which was several miles nearer the Rolling R home ranch than was the ridge where she stood.  When he had gone, she turned again to see where the Mexican was going.  The Mexican, she discovered, was going east as fast as his horse could carry him without dropping dead in that heat; and he, also, was keeping to the hollows.

“Here’s a pretty howdy-do!” said Mary V to the palpitating atmosphere.  “I’m just going to tell dad about Tex sneaking away down here to meet Mexicans and things on the sly!  I never did like that Tex.  I don’t like his eyes.  You can’t see into them at all.  I’ll bet they’re framing up something on Johnny Jewel—­they were pointing right toward his camp.  There’s no telling what they’re up to!  I’m going right and tell dad—­”

But she couldn’t.  Mary V knew she couldn’t.  In the first place, her dad would ask her what she was doing on Black Ridge, which was far beyond her permitted range of activities.  Her dad would foolishly maintain that she could glimpse all the desert necessary without going that far from the ranch.  In the second place, he would probably tell her that he was paying Tex to ride the range and, if he met a Mexican, it was his business to send that same Mexican back where he came from.  In the third place, he would think she was riding over there for a reason which was untrue and very, very unjust.  And he wouldn’t fire Tex, because Tex was a good “hand” and hands were hard to find.  He would simply make her promise to stay at home.