"Forget it!" snapped the brown man curtly. He was an even-tempered
youth, as genial and friendly as a half-grown pup, but just now the
word "pay" irritated him as a red rag does a sulky bull.

"If there's anything at all I can do for you--"

"Not a thing."

The New Yorker felt that he was not expressing himself at all happily.
What he wanted was to show this young fellow that he had put him under
a lifelong obligation he could never hope to wipe out.

"If you ever come to New York--"

"I'm not liable to go there. I don't belong there any more than you do
here. Better drift back to Tucson, stranger. The _parada_ is no place
for a tenderfoot. You're in luck you're not shy one li'l' girl tromped
to death. Take a fool's advice and hit the trail for town _pronto_
before you bump into more trouble."

The rider swung round his pony and cantered back to the beef herd.

He left behind him a much-annoyed clubman, a perplexed and distressed
father, and a girl both hurt and indignant at his brusque rejection of
her father's friendly advances. The episode of the fifty-dollar bill
had taken place entirely under cover. The man who had given the note
and the one who had refused to accept it were the only ones who knew of
it. The girl saw only that this splendid horseman who had snatched her
from under the very feet of the _ladino_ had shown a boorish
discourtesy. The savor had gone out of her adventure. Her heart was