She smiled in slow, indifferent scorn and answered nothing, and her attitude maddened Gallito.  “What do you mean by acting this way?” he cried.  “Let’s get down to it.  Why weren’t you down at the gully last night?  Wouldn’t he let you?” Again he pointed an accusing finger at Seagreave, who stood a little apart watching the scene with folded arms.  “Pearl, you answer me, for I’m going to ask you that question straight out now.  Ain’t you just as good as when you came?”

But Pearl’s seven or seventeen devils were in full possession of her now, and one of them, the demon of silence, stood her in good stead, for she knew intuitively that this attitude of non-explanation would prove far more irritating to her inquisitors than the vials of her wrath poured freely upon them.

But Gallito was in a white fury by this time.  “By God!” he cried again, “you will answer me.  You will tell me, and tell me now.”

“I’ll be hanged first,” she flashed the words at him as a snake darts its fangs.

“And I’ll be hanged if you’ll ask her such questions before me,” cried Seagreave, speaking for the first time.

Her father looked at him with a slow and bitter smile, then he gave a little nod of acrid comprehension.  “You keep out of this, Harry Seagreave,” he said, in a low, cold, deadly voice.  “This is between the girl and me.  Pearl, you come with me—­now.  We leave Colina, as I told you, within a few hours.  You come now.”  He took a step or two down the hill as if expecting that she would follow him.

A wailing wind blew down from the peaks.  The mocking bark of a coyote sounded near at hand in those wild solitudes, a bird flew from one tree to another, and the sound of a breaking twig was like a pistol shot.

Moments passed and still Pearl had not obeyed her father’s command.  It was not repeated, which was characteristic of Gallito.  He merely waited until at last she lifted her eyes and unwaveringly met his.  “I’m not going,” she said clearly.

Harry made a quick, impetuous step toward her, but before he could reach her, her father had caught her by the wrist again and swept her aside.

“Look here, Gallito,” cried Seagreave, “since she won’t explain, you’ve got to listen to me.  I—­”

“I’ve told you to keep out of this, Seagreave,” interrupted Gallito, in his harsh, grating voice.  “I’ll deal with you later.”

But at the sound of Seagreave’s voice the color had come back to Pearl’s cheek, the light to her eyes.  Hands on hips, she swung her skirts and surveyed Bob Flick and her father with a scornful, slanting gaze.  “I didn’t know that there was anybody in the world that would dare ask me such questions, even you, Pop.  And making arrangements with Sweeney without waiting to consult me!  And ordering me to leave Colina on two or three hours’ notice!  Dios!” She spread her hands out on either side of her as if pushing away an impossible thing.  “I can hardly believe it.  I didn’t answer you, Pop, nor you, Bob, because I was trying hard to take things in.  But now,” she turned to Seagreave, her head lifted higher yet in the glory of joy and pride, “I’m not going to leave Colina—­yet, and I’m not going to sign up with Sweeney; am I, Harry?”