“I beg your pardon.  I’m selfish.”  She extended her cup and plate as an invitation for him to share their contents.  “Please eat with me.”

But he refused.  “I ain’t hungry,” he affirmed.  “Honest!”

Accustomed as she was to the diffidence of ranch-hands, she refrained from urging him, and proceeded with her repast.  When she had finished she lay back and watched him as he ate sparingly.

“My horse fell crossing the Arroyo Grande,” she announced, abruptly.  “He broke a leg, and I had to shoot him.”

“Is there any water in the Grande?” asked the man.

“No.  They told me there was plenty.  I knew of this charco, so I made for it.”

“Who told you there was water in the arroyo?”

“Those Mexicans at the little-goat ranch.”

“Balli.  So you walked in from Arroyo Grande.  Lord!  It’s a good ten miles straightaway, and I reckon you came crooked.  Eh?”

“Yes.  And it was very hot.  I was never here but once, and—­the country looks different when you’re afoot.”

“It certainly does,” the man nodded.  Then he continued, musingly:  “No water there, eh?  I figured there might be a little.”  The fact appeared to please him, for he nodded again as he went on with his meal.  “Not much rain down here, I reckon.”

“Very little.  Where are you from?”

“Me?  Hebbronville.  My name is Law.”

Evidently, thought the woman, this fellow belonged to the East outfit, or some of the other big cattle-ranches in the Hebbronville district.  Probably he was a range boss or a foreman.  After a time she said, “I suppose the nearest ranch is that Balli place?”

“Yes’m.”

“I’d like to borrow your horse.”

Mr. Law stared into his plate.  “Well, miss, I’m afraid—­”

She added, hastily, “I’ll send you a fresh one by Balli’s boy in the morning.”

He looked up at her from under the brim of his hat.  “D’you reckon you could find that goat-ranch by star-light, miss?”

The woman was silent.

“’Ain’t you just about caught up on traveling, for one day?” he asked.  “I reckon you need a good rest about as much as anybody I ever saw.  You can have my blanket, you know.”

The prospect was unwelcome, yet she reluctantly agreed.  “Perhaps—­
Then in the morning—­”

Law shook his head.  “I can’t loan you my horse, miss.  I’ve got to stay right here.”

“But Balli’s boy could bring him back.”

“I got to meet a man.”

“Here?”

“Yes’m.”

“When will he come?”

“He’d ought to be here at early dark to-morrow evening.”  Heedless of her dismay, he continued, “Yes’m, about sundown.”

“But—­I can’t stay here.  I’ll ride to Balli’s and have your horse back by afternoon.”

“My man might come earlier than I expect,” Mr. Law persisted.

“Really, I can’t see what difference it would make.  It wouldn’t interfere with your appointment to let me—­”