Beulah led.  Mountain-born and bred, she was active as a bighorn.  Her slenderness was deceptive.  It concealed the pack of her long rippling muscles, the deep-breasted strength of her torso.  One might have marched a long day’s journey without finding a young woman more perfectly modeled for grace and for endurance.

“What are you going to try to do?” Beaudry asked of her timidly.

She turned on him with a burst of feminine ferocity.  “Is that any of your business?  I didn’t ask you to come with me, did I?  Go down to the horse ranch and ask dad to help you out of the park.  Then, when you’re safe with your friends, you can set the officers on him.  Tell them he is a criminal—­just as you told me.”

Her biting tongue made him wince.  “If I told you that I’m sorry.  I had no right.  You’ve saved my life.  Do you think it likely I would betray your people after that?”

“How do I know what a spy would do?  Thank God, I can’t put myself in the place of such people,” she answered disdainfully.

He smiled ruefully.  She was unjust, of course.  But that did not matter.  Roy knew that she was wrought up by what he had told her.  Pride and shame and hatred and distrust spoke in her sharp words.  Was it not natural that a high-spirited girl should resent such a charge against her people and should flame out against the man who had wounded her?  Even though she disapproved of what they had done, she would fly to their defense when attacked.

From the dark gash of the ravine they came at last to the opening where Meldrum lived.

The young woman turned to Beaudry.  “Give me your revolver belt.”

He hesitated.  “What are you going to do?”

Plainly she would have liked to rebuff him, but just now he had the whip hand.  Her sullen answer came slowly.

“I’m going to tell my brother that father needs him.  When he has gone, I’ll see what I can do.”

“And what am I to do while you are inside?”

“Whatever you like.”  She held out her hand for his belt.

Not at all willingly he unbuckled it.  “You’ll be careful,” he urged.  “Meldrum is a bad man.  Don’t try any tricks with him.”

“He knows better than to touch a hair of my head,” she assured him with proud carelessness.  Then, “Hide in those trees,” she ordered.

Ned Rutherford answered her knock on the door of the jacal.  At sight of her he exclaimed:—­

“What are you doing here, Boots?  At this time of night?  Anything wrong?”

“Dad needs you, Ned.  It seems there is trouble about that young man Street.  Jess Tighe has sworn to kill him and dad won’t have it.  There’s trouble in the air.  You’re to come straight home.”

“Why didn’t he send Jeff?”

“He needed him.  You’re to keep on down through the canon to the mouth.  Jess has the mouth of the arroyo guarded to head off Street.”