She panted as if she had been running.  “They’re watching the entrance to the arroyo.  I came up through the canon and across the pasture,” she explained.

“Did they see you?”

“No.  Think not.  We must get out of here.”

“How?”

“The same way I came.”

“But—­if they see us and shoot?”

The girl brushed his objection aside.  “We can’t help that.  They know you’re here, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’ll rush the house.  Come.”

Still he hesitated.  At least they had the shelter of the house.  Outside, if they should be discovered, they would be at the mercy of his foes.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked sharply, and she moved toward the window.

But though he recoiled from going to meet the danger, he could not let a girl lead the way.  Beaudry dropped to the ground outside and stood ready to lend her a hand.  She did not need one.  With a twist of her supple body Beulah came through the opening and landed lightly beside him.

They crept back to the shadows of the hill and skirted its edge.  Slowly they worked their way from the bunkhouse, making the most of such cover as the chaparral afforded.  Farther up they crossed the road into the pasture and by way of it reached the orchard.  Every inch of the distance Roy sweated fear.

She was leading, ostensibly because she knew the lay of the land better.  Through the banked clouds the moon was struggling.  Its light fell upon her lithe, slender figure, the beautifully poised head, the crown of soft black hair.  She moved with the grace and the rhythm of a racing filly stepping from the paddock to the track.

Beaudry had noticed, even in his anxiety, that not once since the tapping on the window had her hand touched his or the sweep of her skirt brushed against his clothes.  She would save him if she could, but with an open disdain that dared him to misunderstand.

They picked their course diagonally through the orchard toward the canon.  Suddenly Beulah stopped.  Without turning, she swept her hand back and caught his.  Slowly she drew him to the shadow of an apple tree.  There, palm to palm, they crouched together.

Voices drifted to them.

“I’d swear I hit him,” one said.

“Maybe you put him out of business.  We got to find out,” another answered.

“I’ll crawl up to the window and take a look,” responded the first.

The voices and the sound of the man’s movements died.  Beulah’s hand dropped to her side.

“We’re all right now,” she said coldly.

They reached the gulch and slowly worked their way down its precipitous sides to the bottom.

The girl turned angrily on Roy.  “Why didn’t you come after father warned you?”

“I didn’t get his warning till night.  I was away.”

“Then how did you get back up the arroyo when it was watched?”