She looked at the rifle that Thora had persisted in carrying across her pommel though Red had tried to relieve her of the cumbersome thing, and she laughed. Her small, olive-skinned face, not unbeautiful in a wild, reckless way, was aflame with emotion.
"I come to the Circle S, senor," she said to Sheridan. "First I think to ride after heem, w'en I know that he is gone to do w'at he say, w'en I wake up from w'at he put in my dreenk. Si.
"Las' night there come Luis an' Ramon Guiterrez an' Felipe Vasquez. They breeng weeskey an' they talk an' dreenk with Hollister an' Pedro. It is late. I am in my bed, try to sleep. I know for long time, senor, Hollister hav' no more use for me. Me, I am like new sombrero to heem. I look fine an' he choose, he take, he use. Bimeby he get too much used to that sombrero, it feet too easy, he look aroun', see another kind, another shape, he throw old sombrero away. Si." She spoke with flowing gesture that emphasized the text of her words, talking with every inch of her lithe vivacity centered in the story.
"So I try to sleep. Bimeby I hear them in nex' room. Talk, laugh, dreenk. I hear about the girl on Monte del Muerte. Hollister say he goin' to take her, to get even with you, Senor Sheridan. He say—never min' w'at he say about that girl who is your querida—she is your querida, senor?"
Sheridan nodded.
"But he is goin' to take her away. He is sol' all this land, all the cattle, an' he is goin' to Mexi-
