"And you, Mrs. Gallagher, are not afraid of Spiser like all the rest?"
An enigmatic expression crossed the woman's face.
"No; I am not afraid of the Señor Spiser. But for you—yes, I am afraid."
They were eating a hasty breakfast when Mrs. Gallagher arose and walked quickly to the window.
A cloud of dust told of some one coming off the mesa, and Nan paled, thinking Spiser might be already returning.
"He is on horseback—coming fast; it is Ben Evans."
Instantly Nan jumped to the conclusion that he had learned, or guessed, the truth and was coming to her aid. But her elation and relief were short, for he rode past the window without so much as a glance and stopped at the blacksmith-shop, near the men's bunk-house.
He was only on an errand, and on one no more romantic and chivalrous than a half-dozen forgotten horseshoes.
Nan could see his face; soberness and then irresolution crept over it as Mrs. Gallagher hastened outside and explained the situation
