"I no hurt-y you, Señorita," he said.

"You bet you won't," answered the Queen, shaking back one finished,
massive plait. "But don't you think you'd better move on?"

"Not hurt-y you--no. But maybeso take one _beso_--one li'l kees, you
call him."

The man smiled again, and set his foot to ascend the slope. Alvarita
leaned swiftly and picked up a stone the size of a cocoanut.

"Vamoose, quick," she ordered peremptorily, "you _coon_!"

The red of insult burned through the Mexican's dark skin.

"_Hidalgo, Yo_!" he shot between his fangs. "I am not neg-r-ro!
_Diabla bonita_ [54], for that you shall pay me."

[FOOTNOTE 54: Diabla bonita--(Spanish) Pretty devil]

He made two quick upward steps this time, but the stone, hurled by no
weak arm, struck him square in the chest. He staggered back to the
footway, swerved half around, and met another sight that drove all
thoughts of the girl from his head. She turned her eyes to see what
had diverted his interest. A man with red-brown, curling hair and a
melancholy, sunburned, smooth-shaven face was coming up the path,
twenty yards away. Around the Mexican's waist was buckled a pistol
belt with two empty holsters. He had laid aside his sixes--possibly
in the _jacal_ of the fair Pancha--and had forgotten them when the
passing of the fairer Alvarita had enticed him to her trail. His hands