Mr. Brown was not greatly accustomed to having his rather fiery top-knot thus openly referred to in tones of evident admiration.  It was a subject he naturally felt somewhat sensitive about, and in spite of the open honesty of the young girl’s face, he could not help doubting for a moment the sincerity of her speech.

“L-l-like f-fun yer do,” he growled uneasily.  “A-a-anyhow, whut are yer d-d-doin’ yere?”

For answer she very promptly swung one neatly booted foot over and dropped lightly to the ground, thus revealing her slender figure.  Her most notable beauty was the liquid blackness of her eyes.

“Si, I tell you all dat ver’ quick, senor,” she explained frankly, nipping the rock-pile with her riding whip, and bending over to peer, with undisguised curiosity, into the yawning shaft-hole.  “I ride out from San Juan for vat you call constitutional—­mercy, such a vord, senor!—­an’ I stray up dis trail.  See?  It vas most steep, my, so steep, like I slide off; but de mustang he climb de hill, all right, an’ den I see you, senor, an’ know dere vas a mine here.  Not de big mine—­bah!  I care not for dat kind—­but just one leetle mine, vere I no be ’fraid to go down.  Den I look at you, so big, vid de beautiful red hair, an’ de kin’ face, an’ I sink he vood let me see how dey do such tings—­he vas nice fellow, if he vas all mud on de clothes.  Si, for I know nice fellow, do I not, amigo? Si, bueno.  So you vill show to me how de brav’ Americanos dig out de yellow gold, senor?”

She flashed her tempting glance up into the man’s face, and Brown stamped his feet nervously, endeavoring to appear stern.

“C-c-could n’t h-hardly do it, m-m-miss.  It ’s t-too blame dirty d-d-down below fer y-your sort.  B-b-besides, my p-pardner ain’t yere, an’ he m-m-might not l-like it.”

“You haf de pardner?  Who vas de pardner?”

“H-h-his name’s H-H-Hicks.”

She clasped her hands in an ecstasy of unrestrained delight.

“Beell Heeks?  Oh, senor, I know Beell Heeks.  He vas ver’ nice fellow, too—­but no so pretty like you; he old man an’ swear—­Holy Mother, how he swear!  He tol’ me once come out any time an’ see hees mine.  I not know vere it vas before.  Maybe de angels show me.  You vas vat Beell call Stutter Brown, I tink maybe?  Ah, now it be all right, senor. Bueno!”

She laid her gauntleted hand softly on the rough sleeve of his woollen shirt, her black, appealing eyes flashing suddenly up into his troubled face.

“I moost laugh, senor; such a brav’ Americano ’fraid of de girl.  Why not you shoot me?”

“A-a-afraid nothin’,” and Stutter’s freckled face became instantly as rosy as his admired hair, “b-but I t-tell ye, miss, it’s a-a-all d-dirt down th-there, an’ not f-f-fit fer no lady ter t-t-traipse round in.”

The temptress, never once doubting her power, smiled most bewitchingly, her hands eloquent.