The Proof of Love

An obscuring mist hung over the canyon, stretching from wall to wall.
Beneath the revealing starlight it was like looking down upon a
restless, silent expanse of gray sea. A stray breath of air came
sucking up the gorge, causing the many spectral trees outlined against
the lighter sky to wave their branches, the leaves rustling as though
swept by rain. There was a faint moaning among the distant rocks as if
hidden caverns were filled with elves at play. It was weird, lonely,
desolate,--straining eyes beholding everywhere the same scene of
deserted wilderness.

Old Hicks lay flat under protection of the ore-dump, his ear pressed
close to the earth, his contracted eyes searching anxiously those dark
hollows in front, a Winchester, cocked and ready, within the grasp of
his hand. Above, Irish Mike, sniffing the air as though he could smell
danger like a pointer dog, hung far out across the parapet of rock,
every eager nerve tingling in the hope of coming battle. Winston
remained in the cabin door, behind him the open room black and silent,
his loaded Winchester between his feet, gamely struggling to overcome a
vague foreboding of impending trouble, yet alert and ready to bear his
part. It was then that Stutter Brown led the saddled pony forward from
out the concealment of bushes. The long awaited moment had come for
action. To his whispered word, Mercedes fluttered promptly forth
through the shadowed doorway, and pressed her face lovingly against the
pony's quickly uplifted nose.

"See," she whispered, patting Brown's brawny arm even while she
continued toying playfully with the silken mane, "he know me, he lofe
me. He bettah as any man, for he nevah tell lie,--nevah,--only be nice
all de time. He ride me till he drop dead, swift, quick, like de bird
fly. So I make eet all right, señor. You see ven de daylight come I
be San Juan. Den I make mooch fun for de Señor Farnham--sure I do."