The Pride of Palomar (2024)

By

Peter B. Kyne

Author of Kindred of the Dust, etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

H. R. BALLINGER

and

DEAN CORNWELL

COSMOPOLITAN BOOK CORPORATION

NEW YORK—MCMXXII

DEDICATION

FRANK L. MULGREW, ESQ.
THE BOHEMIAN CLUB
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

DEAR FRIEND MUL.—

I have at last finished writing "The Pride of Palomar." It isn't atall what I wanted it to be; it isn't at all what I planned it to be,but it does contain something of what you and I both feel, something ofwhat you wanted me to put into it. Indeed, I shall always wish tothink that it contains just a few faint little echoes of the spirit ofthat old California that was fast vanishing when I first disturbed thequiet of the Mission Dolores with infantile shrieks—when you firstgazed upon the redwood-studded hills of Sonoma County.

You adventured with me in my quest for local color for "The Valley ofthe Giants," in Northern California; you performed a similar service inSouthern California last summer and unearthed for me more local color,more touches of tender sentiment than I could use. Therefore, "ThePride of Palomar" is peculiarly your book.

On a day a year ago, when the story was still so vague I could scarcelyfind words in which to sketch for you an outline of the novel Ipurposed writing, you said: "It will be a good story. I'm sold on italready!" To you the hacienda of a Rancho Palomar will always bringdelightful recollections of the gracious hospitality of Señor CaveCoutts, sitting at the head of that table hewed in the forties. Littledid Señor Coutts realize that he, the last of the dons in San DiegoCounty, was to furnish copy for my novel; that his pride of ancestry,both American and Castilian, his love for his ancestral hacienda atthe Rancho Guajome, and his old-fashioned garden with the greatBougainvillea in flower, were the ingredients necessary to theproduction of what I trust will be a book with a mission.

When we call again at the Moreno hacienda on the Rio San Luis Rey,Carolina will not be there to metamorphose her home into a restaurantand serve us galina con arroz, tortillas and frijoles refritos.But if she should be, she will not answer, when asked the amount of thescore: "What you will, señor." Ah, no, Mul. Scoundrels devoid ofromance will have discovered her, and she will have opened an inn witha Jap cook and the tariff will be dos pesos y media; there will be astrange waiter and he will scowl at us and expect a large tip. AndStephen Crane's brother, the genial judge, will have made his fortunein the mine on the hill, and there will be no more California wine as afirst aid to digestion.

I had intended to paint the picture that will remain longest in yourmemory—the dim candle-light in the white-washed chapel at the IndianReservation at Pala, during Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament—theyoung Indian Madonna, with her naked baby lying in her lap, while shesang:

"Come, Holy Ghost, creator blest,
And in my heart take up thy rest."

But the picture was crowded out in the make-up. There was too much towrite about, and I was always over-set! I saw and felt, with you, andregarded it as more poignantly pathetic, the tragedy of that littlehandful of San Luisanos, herded away in the heart of those barren hillsto make way for the white man. And now the white man is almost goneand Father Dominic's Angelus, ringing from Mission San Luis Rey, fallsupon the dull ear of a Japanese farmer, usurping that sweet valley,hallowed by sentiment, by historical association, by the lives andloves and ashes of the men and women who carved California from thewilderness.

I have given to this book the labor of love. I know it isn'tliterature, Mul, but I have joyed in writing it and it has, at least,the merit of sincerity. It is an expression of faith and for all itsfaults and imperfections, I think you will find, tucked away in itsomewhere, a modicum of merit. I have tried to limn something, howevervague, of the beauty of the land we saw through boyish eyes before thereal estate agent had profaned it.

You were born with a great love, a great reverence for beauty. Thatmust be because you were born in Sonoma County in the light of God'ssmile. Each spring in California the dogwood blossoms are, for you, acreamier white, the buckeye blossoms more numerous and fragrant, thehills a trifle greener and the old order, the old places, the oldfriends a little dearer.

Wherefore, with much appreciation of your aid in its creation and ofyour unfaltering friendship and affection, I dedicate "The Pride ofPalomar" to you.

Faithfully,

PETER B. KYNE.

SAN FRANCISCO
JUNE 9, 1921.

Acknowledgment is made of the indebtedness of the author for much ofthe material used in this book to Mr. Montaville Flowers, author of"The Japanese Conquest of American Opinion."

P. B. K.

CONTENTS

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

The Man—Don Miguel Farrel....Frontispiece

Here amidst the golden romance of the old mission,the girl suddenly understood Don Mike

The Girl—Kay Parker

I

For the first time in sixty years, Pablo Artelan, the majordomo of theRancho Palomar, was troubled of soul at the approach of winter. OldDon Miguel Farrel had observed signs of mental travail in Pablo for amonth past, and was at a loss to account for them. He knew Pablopossessed one extra pair of overalls, brand-new, two pairs of bootswhich young Don Miguel had bequeathed him when the Great White Fatherat Washington had summoned the boy to the war in April of 1917, threechambray shirts in an excellent state of repair, half of a fat steerjerked, a full bag of Bayo beans, and a string of red chilli-pepperspendant from the rafters of an adobe shack which Pablo and his wife,Carolina, occupied rent free. Certainly (thought old Don Miguel) lifecould hold no problems for one of Pablo's race thus pleasantly situated.

Coming upon Pablo this morning, as the latter sat in his favorite seatunder the catalpa tree just outside the wall of the ancient adobecompound, where he could command a view of the white wagon-road windingdown the valley of the San Gregorio, Don Miguel decided to question hisancient retainer.

"My good Pablo," he queried, "what has come over thee of late? Thouart of a mien as sorrowful as that of a sick steer. Can it be that thystomach refuses longer to digest thy food? Come; permit me to examinethy teeth. Yes, by my soul; therein lies the secret. Thou hast atoothache and decline to complain, thinking that, by thy silence, Ishall be saved a dentist's bill." But Pablo shook his head innegation. "Come!" roared old Don Miguel. "Open thy mouth!"

Pablo rose creakily and opened a mouth in which not a tooth wasmissing. Old Don Miguel made a most minute examination, but failed todiscover the slightest evidence of deterioration.

"Blood of the devil!" he cried, disgusted beyond measure. "Out withthy secret! It has annoyed me for a month."

"The ache is not in my teeth, Don Miguel. It is here." And Pablo laida swarthy hand upon his torso. "There is a sadness in my heart, DonMiguel. Two years has Don Mike been with the soldiers. Is it not timethat he returned to us?"

Don Miguel's aristocratic old face softened.

"So that is what disturbs thee, my Pablo?"

Pablo nodded miserably, seated himself, and resumed his task offashioning the hondo of a new rawhide riata.

"It is a very dry year," he complained. "Never before have I seenDecember arrive ere the grass in the San Gregorio was green with theOctober rains. Everything is burned; the streams and the springs havedried up, and for a month I have listened to hear the quail call on thehillside yonder. But I listen in vain. The quail have moved toanother range."

"Well, what of it, Pablo?"

"How our beloved Don Mike enjoyed the quail-shooting in the fall!Should he return now to the Palomar, there will be no quail to shoot."He wagged his gray head sorrowfully. "Don Mike will think that, withthe years, laziness and ingratitude have descended upon old Pablo.Truly, Satan afflicts me." And he cursed with great depth offeeling—in English.

"Yes, poor boy," old Don Miguel agreed; "he will miss more than thequail-shooting when he returns—if he should return. They sent him toSiberia to fight the Bolsheviki."

"What sort of country is this where Don Mike slays our enemy?" Pabloqueried.

"It is always winter there, Pablo. It is inhabited by a wild race ofmen with much whiskers."

"Ah, our poor Don Mike! And he a child of the sun!"

"He but does his duty," old Don Miguel replied proudly. "He adds tothe fame of an illustrious family, noted throughout the centuries forthe gallantry of its warriors."

"A small comfort, Don Miguel, if our Don Mike comes not again to thosethat love him."

"Pray for him," the old Don suggested piously.

Fell a silence. Then,

"Don Miguel, yonder comes one over the trail from El Toro."

Don Miguel gazed across the valley to the crest of the hills. There,against the sky-line, a solitary horseman showed. Pablo cupped hishands over his eyes and gazed long and steadily.

"It is Tony Moreno," he said, while the man was still a mile distant."I know that scuffling cripple of a horse he rides."

Don Miguel seated himself On the bench beside Pablo and awaited thearrival of the horseman. As he drew nearer, the Don saw that Pablo wasright.

"Now, what news does that vagabond bear?" he muttered. "Assuredly hebrings a telegram; otherwise the devil himself could not induce thatlazy wastrel to ride twenty miles."

"Of a truth you are right, Don Miguel. Tony Moreno is the only man inEl Toro who is forever out of a job, and the agent of the telegraphcompany calls upon him always to deliver messages of importance."

With the Don, he awaited, with vague apprehension, the arrival of TonyMoreno. As the latter pulled his sweating horse up before them, theyrose and gazed upon him questioningly. Tony Moreno, on his part,doffed his shabby sombrero with his right hand and murmured courteously,

"Buenas tardes, Don Miguel."

Pablo he ignored. With his left hand, he caught a yellow envelope asit fell from under the hat.

"Good-afternoon, Moreno." Don Miguel returned his salutation with agravity he felt incumbent upon one of his station to assume whenaddressing a social inferior. "You bring me a telegram?" He spoke inEnglish, for the sole purpose of indicating to the messenger that thegulf between them could not be spanned by the bridge of their mothertongue. He suspected Tony Moreno very strongly of having stolen ayearling from him many years ago.

Tony Moreno remembered his manners, and dismounted before handing DonMiguel the telegram.

"The delivery charges?" Don Miguel queried courteously.

"Nothing, Don Miguel." Moreno's voice was strangely subdued. "It is apleasure to serve you, señor."

"You are very kind." And Don Miguel thrust the telegram, unopened,into his pocket. "However," he continued, "it will please me, Moreno,if you accept this slight token of my appreciation." And he handed themessenger a five-dollar bill. The don was a proud man, and dislikedbeing under obligation to the Tony Morenos of this world. Tonyprotested, but the don stood his ground, silently insistent, and, inthe end, the other pouched the bill, and rode away. Don Miguel seatedhimself once more beside his retainer and drew forth the telegram.

"It must be evil news," he murmured, with the shade of a tremor in hismusical voice; "otherwise, that fellow could not have felt so much pityfor me that it moved him to decline a gratuity."

"Read, Don Miguel!" Pablo croaked. "Read!"

Don Miguel read. Then he carefully folded the telegram and replaced itin the envelope; as deliberately, he returned the envelope to hispocket. Suddenly his hands gripped the bench, and he trembledviolently.

"Don Mike is dead?" old Pablo queried softly. He possessed all theacute intuition of a primitive people.

Don Miguel did not reply; so presently Pablo turned his head and gazedup into the master's face. Then he knew—his fingers trembled slightlyas he returned to work on the hondo, and, for a long time, no soundbroke the silence save the song of an oriole in the catalpa tree.

Suddenly, the sound for which old Pablo had waited so long burst forthfrom the sage-clad hillside. It was a co*ck quail calling, and, to themajordomo, it seemed to say: "Don Mike! Come home! Don Mike! Comehome!"

"Ah, little truant, who has told you that you are safe?" Pablo cried inagony. "For Don Mike shall not come home—no, no—never any more!"

His Indian stoicism broke at last; he clasped his hands and fell to hisknees beside the bench, sobbing aloud.

Don Miguel regarded him not, and when Pablo's babbling becameincoherent, the aged master of Palomar controlled his twitching handssufficiently to roll and light a cigarette. Then he reread thetelegram.

Yes; it was true. It was from Washington, and signed by theadjutant-general; it informed Don Miguel José Farrel, with regret, thathis son, First Sergeant Miguel José Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel,Number 765,438, had been killed in action in Siberia on the fourthinstant.

"At least," the old don murmured, "he died like a gentleman. Had hereturned to the Rancho Palomar, he could not have continued to livelike one. Oh, my son, my son!"

He rose blindly and groped his way along the wall until he came to theinset gate leading into the patio; like a stricken animal retreating toits lair, he sought the privacy of his old-fashioned garden, where nonemight intrude upon his grief.

II

First Sergeant Michael Joseph Farrel entered the orderly-room and salutedhis captain, who sat, with his chair tilted back, staring mournfully atthe opposite wall.

"I have to report, sir, that I have personally delivered the batteryrecords, correctly sorted, labeled, and securely crated, to thedemobilization office. The typewriter, field-desk, and stationery havebeen turned in, and here are the receipts."

The captain tucked the receipts in his blouse pocket.

"Well, Sergeant, I dare say that marks the completion of your duties—allbut the last formation." He glanced at his wrist-watch. "Fall in thebattery and call the roll. By that time, I will have organized myfarewell speech to the men. Hope I can deliver it without making a foolof myself."

"Very well, sir."

The first sergeant stepped out of the orderly-room and blew three longblasts on his whistle—his signal to the battery to "fall in." The mencame out of the demobilization-shacks with alacrity and formed within aminute; without command, they "dressed" to the right and straightened theline. Farrel stepped to the right of it, glanced down the long row ofsilent, eager men, and commanded,

"Front!"

Nearly two hundred heads described a quarter circle.

Farrel stepped lithely down the long front to the geometrical center ofthe formation, made a right-face, walked six paces, executed anabout-face, and announced complainingly:

"Well, I've barked at you for eighteen months—and finally you made itsnappy. On the last day of your service, you manage to fall in withinthe time-limit and dress the line perfectly. I congratulate you." Covertgrins greeted his ironical sally. He continued: "I'm going to saygood-by to those of you who think there are worse tops in the servicethan I. To those who did not take kindly to my methods, I have noapologies to offer. I gave everybody a square deal, and for theinformation of some half-dozen Hot-spurs who have vowed to give me thebeating of my life the day we should be demobilized, I take pleasure inannouncing that I will be the first man to be discharged, that there is anice clear space between these two demobilization-shacks and the groundis not too hard, that there will be no guards to interfere, and if anyman with the right to call himself 'Mister' desires to air his grievance,he can make his engagement now, and I shall be at his service at the hourstipulated. Does anybody make me an offer?" He stood there, balancednicely on the balls of his feet, cool, alert, glancing interestedly upand down the battery front. "What?" he bantered, "nobody bids? Well,I'm glad of that. I part friends with everybody. Call rolls!"

The section-chiefs called the rolls of their sections and reported thempresent. Farrel stepped to the door of the orderly-room.

"The men are waiting for the captain," he reported.

"Sergeant Farrel," that bedeviled individual replied frantically, "Ican't do it. You'll have to do it for me."

"Yes, sir; I understand."

Farrel returned to the battery, brought them to attention, and said:

"The skipper wants to say good-by, men, but he isn't up to the job. He'safraid to tackle it; so he has asked me to wish you light duty, heavypay, and double rations in civil life. He has asked me to say to youthat he loves you all and will not soon forget such soldiers as you haveproved yourselves to be."

"Three for the Skipper! Give him three and a tiger!" somebody pleaded,and the cheers were given with a hearty generosity which even the mostdisgruntled organization can develop on the day of demobilization.

The skipper came to the door of the orderly-room.

"Good-by, good luck, and God bless you, lads!" he shouted, and nod withthe discharges under his arm, while the battery "counted off," and, incommand of Farrel (the lieutenants had already been demobilized), marchedto the pay-tables. As they emerged from the paymaster's shack, theyscattered singly, in little groups, back to the demobilization-shacks.Presently, bearing straw suitcases, "tin" helmets, and gas-masks (theselatter articles presented to them by a paternal government as souvenirsof their service), they drifted out through the Presidio gate, where theworld swallowed them.

Although he had been the first man in the battery to receive hisdischarge, Farrel was the last man to leave the Presidio. He waiteduntil the captain, having distributed the discharges, came out of thepay-office and repaired again to his deserted orderly-room; whereupon theformer first sergeant followed him.

"I hesitate to obtrude, sir," he announced, as he entered the room, "butwhether the captain likes it or not, he'll have to say good-by to me. Ihave attended to everything I can think of, sir; so, unless the captainhas some further use for me, I shall be jogging along."

"Farrel," the captain declared, "if I had ever had a doubt as to why Imade you top cutter of B battery, that last remark of yours would havedissipated it. Please do not be in a hurry. Sit down and mourn with mefor a little while."

"Well, I'll sit down with you, sir, but I'll be hanged if I'll bemournful. I'm too happy in the knowledge that I'm going home."

"Where is your home, sergeant?"

"In San Marcos County, in the southern part of the state. After twoyears of Siberia and four days of this San Francisco fog, I'm fed up onlow temperatures, and, by the holy poker, I want to go home. It isn'tmuch of a home—just a quaint, old, crumbling adobe ruin, but it's home,and it's mine. Yes, sir; I'm going home and sleep in the bed mygreat-greatgrandfather was born in."

"If I had a bed that old, I'd fumigate it," the captain declared. Likeall regular army officers, he was a very devil of a fellow forsanitation. "Do you worship your ancestors, Farrel?"

"Well, come to think of it, I have rather a reverence for 'the ashes ofmy fathers and the temples of my gods.'"

"So have the Chinese. Among Americans, however, I thought all that sortof thing was confined to the descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers."

"If I had an ancestor who had been a Pilgrim Father," Farrel declared,"I'd locate his grave and build a garbage-incinerator on it."

"What's your grouch against the Pilgrim Fathers?"

"They let their religion get on top of them, and they took all the joyout of life. My Catalonian ancestors, on the other hand, while takingtheir religion seriously, never permitted it to interfere with afiesta. They were what might be called 'regular fellows.'"

"Your Catalonian ancestors? Why, I thought you were black Irish, Farrel?"

"The first of my line that I know anything about was a lieutenant in theforce that marched overland from Mexico to California under command ofDon Gaspar de Portola. Don Gaspar was accompanied by Fray JuniperoSerra. They carried a sword and a cross respectively, and arrived in SanDiego on July first, 1769. So, you see, I'm a real Californian."

"You mean Spanish-Californian."

"Well, hardly in the sense that most people use that term, sir. We havenever intermarried with Mexican or Indian, and until my grandfatherFarrel arrived at the ranch and refused to go away until my grandmotherNoriaga went with him, we were pure-bred Spanish blonds. My grandmotherhad red hair, brown eyes, and a skin as white as an old bleached-linennapkin. Grandfather Farrel is the fellow to whom I am indebted for mysaddle-colored complexion."

"Siberia has bleached you considerably. I should say you're an ordinarybrunet now."

Farrel removed his overseas cap and ran long fingers through his hair.

"If I had a strain of Indian in me, sir," he explained, "my hair would bestraight, thick, coarse, and blue-black. You will observe that it iswavy, a medium crop, of average fineness, and jet black."

The captain laughed at his frankness.

"Very well, Farrel; I'll admit you're clean-strain white. But tell me:How much of you is Latin and how much Farrel?"

It was Farrel's turn to chuckle now.

"Seriously, I cannot answer that question. My grandmother, as I havestated, was pure-bred Castilian or Catalonian, for I suppose they mixed.The original Michael Joseph Farrel (I am the third of the name) wasTipperary Irish, and could trace his ancestry back to the fairies—tohear him tell it. But one can never be quite certain how much Spanishthere is in an Irishman from the west, so I have always started with thepremise that the result of that marriage—my father—was three-fifthsLatin. Father married a Galvez, who was half Scotch; so I suppose I'm anAmerican."

"I should like to see you on your native heath, Farrel. Does your dadstill wear a conical-crowned sombrero, bell-shaped trousers, bolerojacket, and all that sort of thing?"

"No, sir. The original Mike insisted upon wearing regular trousers andhats. He had all of the prejudices of his race, and regarded folks whodid things differently from him as inferior people. He was a lieutenanton a British sloop-of-war that was wrecked on the coast of San MarcosCounty in the early 'Forties. All hands were drowned, with the exceptionof my grandfather, who was a very contrary man. He swam ashore andstrolled up to the hacienda of the Rancho Palomar, arriving just beforeluncheon. What with a twenty-mile hike in the sun, he was dry by thetime he arrived, and in his uniform, although somewhat bedraggled, helooked gay enough to make a hit with my great-grandfather Noriaga, whoinvited him to luncheon and begged him to stay a while. Michael Josephliked the place; so he stayed. You see, there were thousands of horseson the ranch and, like all sailors, he had equestrian ambitions."

"Great snakes! It must have been a sizable place."

"It was. The original Mexican grant was twenty leagues square."

"I take it, then, that the estate has dwindled in size."

"Oh, yes, certainly. My great-grandfather Noriaga, Michael Joseph I, andMichael Joseph II shot craps with it, and bet it on horse-races, and gaveit away for wedding-doweries, and, in general, did their little best toput the Farrel posterity out in the mesquite with the last of the MissionIndians."

"How much of this principality have you left?"

"I do not know. When I enlisted, we had a hundred thousand acres of thefinest valley and rolling grazing-land in California and the haciendathat was built in 1782. But I've been gone two years, and haven't heardfrom home for five months."

"Mortgaged?"

"Of course. The Farrels never worked while money could be raised at tenper cent. Neither did the Noriagas. You might as well attempt to yokean elk and teach him how to haul a cart."

"Oh, nonsense, Farrel! You're the hardest-working man I have ever known."

Farrel smiled boyishly.

"That was in Siberia, and I had to hustle to keep warm. But I know I'llnot be home six months before that delicious mañana spirit will settleover me again, like mildew on old boots."

The captain shook his head.

"Any man who can see so clearly the economic faults of his race andnevertheless sympathize with them is not one to be lulled to the ruinthat has overtaken practically all of the old native California families.That strain of Celt and Gael in you will triumph over the easy-goingLatin."

"Well, perhaps. And two years in the army has helped tremendously toeradicate an inherited tendency toward procrastination."

"I shall like to think that I had something to do with that," the officeranswered. "What are your plans?"

"Well, sir, this hungry world must be fed by the United States for thenext ten years, and I have an idea that the Rancho Palomar can pullitself out of the hole with beef cattle. My father has always raisedshort-legged, long-horned scrubs, descendants of the old Mexican breeds,and there is no money in that sort of stock. If I can induce him to turnthe ranch over to me, I'll try to raise sufficient money to buy a coupleof car-loads of pure-bred Hereford bulls and grade up that scrub stock;in four or five years I'll have steers that will weigh eighteen hundredto two thousand pounds on the hoof, instead of the littleeight-hundred-pounders that have swindled us for a hundred years."

"How many head of cattle can you run on your ranch?"

"About ten thousand—one to every ten acres. If I could develop waterfor irrigation in the San Gregorio valley, I could raise alfalfa andlot-feed a couple of thousand more."

"What is the ranch worth?"

"About eight per acre is the average price of good cattle-range nowadays.With plenty of water for irrigation, the valley-land would be worth fivehundred dollars an acre. It's as rich as cream, and will growanything—with water."

"Well, I hope your dad takes a back seat and gives you a free hand,Farrel. I think you'll make good with half a chance."

"I feel that way also," Farrel replied seriously.

"Are you going south to-night?"

"Oh, no. Indeed not! I don't want to go home in the dark, sir." Thecaptain was puzzled. "Because I love my California, and I haven't seenher for two years," Farrel replied, to the other's unspoken query. "It'sbeen so foggy since we landed in San Francisco I've had a hard job makingmy way round the Presidio. But if I take the eight-o'clock traintomorrow morning, I'll run out of the fog-belt in forty-five minutes andbe in the sunshine for the remainder of the journey. Yes, byJupiter—and for the remainder of my life!"

"You want to feast your eyes on the countryside, eh?"

"I do. It's April, and I want to see the Salinas valley with its oaks; Iwant to see the bench-lands with the grape-vines just budding; I want tosee some bald-faced cows clinging to the Santa Barbara hillsides, and Iwant to meet some fellow on the train who speaks the language of mytribe."

"Farrel, you're all Irish. You're romantic and poetical, and you feelthe call of kind to kind. That's distinctly a Celtic trait."

"Quién sabe? But I have a great yearning to speak Spanish withsomebody. It's my mother tongue."

"There must be another reason," the captain bantered him. "Sure thereisn't a girl somewhere along the right of way and you are fearful, if youtake the night-train, that the porter may fail to waken you in time towave to her as you go by her station?"

Farrel shook his head.

"There's another reason, but that isn't it. Captain, haven't you beenvisualizing every little detail of your home-coming?"

"You forget, Farrel, that I'm a regular-army man, and we poor devils getaccustomed to being uprooted. I've learned not to build castles inSpain, and I never believe I'm going to get a leave until the old manhands me the order. Even then, I'm always fearful of an order recallingit."

"You're missing a lot of happiness, sir. Why, I really believe I've hadmore fun out of the anticipation of my home-coming than I may get out ofthe realization. I've planned every detail for months, and, if anythingslips, I'm liable to sit right down and bawl like a kid."

"Let's listen to your plan of operations, Farrel," the captain suggested."I'll never have one myself, in all probability, but I'm child enough towant to listen to yours."

"Well, in the first place, I haven't communicated with my father sincelanding here. He doesn't know I'm back in California, and I do not wanthim to know until I drop in on him."

"And your mother, Farrel?"'

"Died when I was a little chap. No brothers or sisters. Well, if I hadwritten him or wired him when I first arrived, he would have had a weekof the most damnable suspense, because, owing to the uncertainty of theexact date of our demobilization, I could not have informed him of theexact time of my arrival home. Consequently, he'd have had old Carolina,our cook, dishing up nightly fearful quantities of the sort of grub I wasraised on. And that would be wasteful. Also, he'd sit under the catalpatree outside the western wall of the hacienda and never take his eyes offthe highway from El Toro or the trail from Sespe. And every night afterthe sun had set and I'd failed to show up, he'd go to bed heavy-hearted.Suspense is hard on an old man, sir."

"On young men, too. Go on."

"Well, I'll drop off the train to-morrow afternoon about four o'clock ata lonely little flag-station called Sespe. After the train leaves Sespe,it runs south-west for almost twenty miles to the coast, and turns southto El Toro. Nearly everybody enters the San Gregorio from El Toro, but,via the short-cut trail from Sespe, I can hike it home in three hours andarrive absolutely unannounced and unheralded.

"Now, as I pop up over the mile-high ridge back of Sespe, I'll be lookingdown on the San Gregorio while the last of the sunlight still lingersthere. You see, sir, I'm only looking at an old picture I've alwaysloved. Tucked away down in the heart of the valley, there is an old ruinof a mission—the Mission de la Madre Dolorosa—the Mother of Sorrows.The light will be shining on its dirty white walls and red-tiled roof,and I'll sit me down in the shade of a manzanita bush and wait, becausethat's my valley and I know what's coming.

"Exactly at six o'clock, I shall see a figure come out on the roof of themission and stand in front of the old gallows-frame on which hang eightchimes that were carried in on mules from the City of Mexico whenJunipero Serra planted the cross of Catholicism at San Diego, in 1769.That distant figure will be Brother Flavio, of the Franciscan Order, andthe old boy is going to ramp up and down in front of those chimes with ahammer and give me a concert. He'll bang out 'Adeste Fideles' and'Gloria in Excelsis.' That's a cinch, because he's a creature of habit.Occasionally he plays 'Lead, Kindly Light' and 'Ave Maria'!"

Farrel paused, a faint smile of amusem*nt fringing his handsome mouth.He rolled and lighted a cigarette and continued:

"My father wrote me that old Brother Flavio, after a terrible battle withhis own conscience and at the risk of being hove out of the valley by hisindignant superior, Father Dominic, was practising 'Hail, The ConqueringHero Comes!' against the day of my home-coming. I wrote father to tellBrother Flavio to cut that out and substitute 'In the Good OldSummertime' if he wanted to make a hit with me. Awfully good old hunks,Brother Flavio! He knows I like those old chimes, and, when I'm home, hemost certainly bangs them so the melody will carry clear up to thePalomar."

The captain was gazing with increasing amazement upon his former firstsergeant. After eighteen months, he had discovered a man he had notknown heretofore."

"And after the 'Angelus'—what?" he demanded.

Farrel's smug little smile of complacency had broadened.

"Well, sir, when Brother Flavio pegs out, I'll get up and run down to theMission, where Father Dominic, Father Andreas, Brother Flavio, BrotherAnthony, and Brother Benedict will all extend a welcome and muss me up,and we'll all talk at once and get nowhere with the conversation for thefirst five minutes. Brother Anthony is just a little bit—ah—nutty, butharmless. He'll want to know how many men I've killed, and I'll tell himtwo hundred and nineteen. He has a leaning toward odd numbers, astending more toward exactitude. Right away, he'll go into the chapel andpray for their souls, and while he's at this pious exercise, FatherDominic will dig up a bottle of old wine that's too good for a nut likeBrother Anthony, and we'll sit on a bench in the mission garden in theshade of the largest bougainvillea in the world and tuck away the wine.Between tucks, Father Dominic will inquire casually into the state of mysoul, and the information thus elicited will scandalize the old saint.The only way I can square myself is to go into the chapel with them andgive thanks for my escape from the Bolsheviki.

"By that time, it will be a quarter of seven and dark, so Father Dominicwill crank up a prehistoric little automobile my father gave him in orderthat he might spread himself over San Marcos County on Sundays and saytwo masses. I have a notion that the task of keeping that old car inrunning order has upset Brother Anthony's mental balance. He used to bea blacksmith's helper in El Toro in his youth, and therefore is supposedto be a mechanic in his old age."

"Then the old padre drives you home, eh?" the captain suggested.

"He does. Providentially, it is now the cool of the evening. The SanGregorio is warm enough, for all practical purposes, even on a day inApril, and, knowing this, I am grateful to myself for timing my arrivalafter the heat of the day. Father Dominic is grateful also. The old manwears thin sandals, and on hot days he suffers continuous martyrdom fromthe heat of that little motor. He is always begging Satan to fly awaywith that hot-foot accelerator.

"Well, arrived home, I greet my father alone in the patio. FatherDominic, meanwhile, sits outside in his flivver and permits the motor toroar, just to let my father know he's there, although not for moneyenough to restore his mission would he butt in on us at that moment.

"Well, my father will not be able to hear a word I say until PadreDominic shuts off his motor; so my father will yell at him and ask himwhat the devil he's doing out there and to come in, and be quick aboutit, or he'll throw his share of the dinner to the hogs. We always dineat seven; so we'll be in time for dinner. But before we go in to dinner,my dad will ring the bell in the compound, and the help will report.Amid loud cries of wonder and delight, I shall be welcomed by a mess ofmixed breeds of assorted sexes, and old Pablo, the majordomo, will beordered to pass out some wine to celebrate my arrival. It's against thelaw to give wine to an Indian, but then, as my father always remarks onsuch occasions: 'To hell with the law! They're my Indians, and there aredamned few of them left.'

"Padre Dominic, my father, and I will, in all probability, get just alittle bit jingled at dinner. After dinner, we'll sit on the porchflanking the patio and smoke cigars, and I'll smell the lemon verbena andheliotrope and other old-fashioned flowers modern gardeners haveforgotten how to grow. About midnight, Father Dominic's brain will havecleared, and he will be fit to be trusted with his accursed automobile;so he will snort home in the moonlight, and my father will then carefullylock the patio gate with a nine-inch key. Not that anybody ever stealsanything in our country, except a cow once in a while—and cows neverrange in our patio—but just because we're hell-benders for conforming tocustom. When I was a boy, Pablo Artelan, our majordomo, always sleptathwart that gate, like an old watchdog. I give you my word I've climbedthat patio wall a hundred times and dropped down on Pablo's stomachwithout wakening him. And, for a quarter of a century, to my personalknowledge, that patio gate has supported itself on a hinge and a half.Oh, we're a wonderful institution, we Farrels!"

"What did you say this Pablo was?"

"He used to be a majordomo. That is, he was the foreman of the ranchwhen we needed a foreman. We haven't needed Pablo for a long time, butit doesn't cost much to keep him on the pay-roll, except when hisrelatives come to visit him and stay a couple of weeks."

"And your father feeds them?"

"Certainly. Also, he houses them. It can't be helped. It's an oldcustom."

"How long has Pablo been a pensioner?"

"From birth. He's mostly Indian, and all the work he ever did never hurthim. But, then, he was never paid very much. He was born on the ranchand has never been more than twenty miles from it. And his wife is ourcook. She has relatives, too."

The captain burst out laughing.

"But surely this Pablo has some use," he suggested.

"Well he feeds the dogs, and in order to season his frijoles with thesalt of honest labor, he saddles my father's horse and leads him round tothe house every morning. Throughout the remainder of the day, he sitsoutside the wall and, by following the sun, he manages to remain in theshade. He watches the road to proclaim the arrival of visitors, smokescigarettes, and delivers caustic criticisms on the younger generationwhen he can get anybody to listen to him."

"How old is your father, Farrel?"

"Seventy-eight."

"And he rides a horse!"

"He does worse than that." Farrel laughed. "He rides a horse that wouldpolice you, sir. On his seventieth birthday, at a rodeo, he won firstprize for roping and hog-tying a steer."

"I'd like to meet that father of yours, Farrel."

"You'd like him. Any time you want to spend a furlough on the Palomar,we'll make you mighty welcome. Better come in the fall for thequail-shooting." He glanced at his wrist-watch and sighed. "Well, Isuppose I'd do well to be toddling along. Is the captain going to remainin the service?"

The captain nodded.

"My people are hell-benders on conforming to custom, also," he added."We've all been field-artillerymen.

"I believe I thanked you for a favor you did me once, but to prove Imeant what I said, I'm going to send you a horse, sir. He is a chestnutwith silver points, five years old, sixteen hands high, sound as aLiberty Bond, and bred in the purple. He is beautifully reined, game,full of ginger, but gentle and sensible. He'll weigh ten hundred incondition, and he's as active as a cat. You can win with him at anyhorse-show and at the head of a battery. Dios! He is every inch acaballero!"

"Sergeant, you're much too kind. Really——-"

"The things we have been through together, sir—all that we have been toeach other—never can happen again. You will add greatly to my happinessif you will accept this animal as a souvenir of our very pleasantassociation."

"Oh, son, this is too much! You're giving me your own private mount.You love him. He loves you. Doubtless he'll know you the minute youenter the pasture."

Farrel's fine white teeth, flashed in a brilliant smile, "I do not desireto have the captain mounted on an inferior horse. We have many othergood horses on the Palomar. This one's name is Panchito; I will expresshim to you some day this week."

"Farrel, you quite overwhelm me. A thousand thanks! I'll treasurePanchito for your sake as well as his own."

The soldier extended his hand, and the captain grasped it.

"Good-by, Sergeant. Pleasant green fields!"

"Good-by, sir. Dry camps and quick promotion."

The descendant of a conquistador picked up his straw suitcase, hishelmet, and gas-mask. At the door, he stood to attention, and saluted.The captain leaped to his feet and returned this salutation of warriors;the door opened and closed, and the officer stood staring at the space solately occupied by the man who, for eighteen months, had been his righthand.

"Strange man!" he muttered. "I didn't know they bred his kind any more.Why, he's a feudal baron!"

III

There were three people in the observation-car when Michael JosephFarrel boarded it a few minutes before eight o'clock the followingmorning. Of the three, one was a girl, and, as Farrel entered,carrying the souvenirs of his service—a helmet and gas-mask—sheglanced at him with the interest which the average civilian manifestsin any soldier obviously just released from service and homeward bound.Farrel's glance met hers for an instant with equal interest; then heturned to stow his impedimenta in the brass rack over his seat. He wasgranted an equally swift but more direct appraisal of her as he walkeddown the observation-car to the rear platform, where he selected achair in a corner that offered him sanctuary from the cold, fog-ladenbreeze, lighted a cigar, and surrendered himself to contemplating, inhis mind's eye, the joys of home-coming.

He had the platform to himself until after the train had passed PaloAlto, when others joined him. The first to emerge on the platform wasa Japanese. Farrel favored him with a cool, contemptuous scrutiny, forhe was a Californian and did not hold the members of this race in atithe of the esteem he accorded other Orientals. This Japanese wasrather shorter and thinner than the majority of his race. He worelarge, round tortoise-shell spectacles, and clothes that proclaimed theattention of the very best tailors; a gold-band ring, set with oneblue-white diamond and two exquisite sapphires, adorned the pudgyfinger of his right hand. Farrel judged that his gray beaver hat musthave cost at least fifty dollars.

"We ought to have Jim Crow cars for these co*ck-sure sons of Nippon,"the ex-soldier growled to himself. "We'll come to it yet if somethingisn't done about them. They breed so fast they'll have us crowded intoback seats in another decade."

He had had some unpleasant clashes with Japanese troops in Siberia, andthe memory of their studied insolence was all the more poignant becauseit had gone unchallenged. He observed, now, that the Japanesepassenger had permitted the screen door to slam in the face of the manfollowing him; with a very definite appreciation of the good things oflife, he had instantly selected the chair in the corner oppositeFarrel, where he could smoke his cigar free from the wind. Followingthe Japanese came an American, as distinctive of his class as theJapanese was of his. In point of age, this man was about fifty yearsold—a large man strikingly handsome and of impressive personality. Hecourteously held the door open to permit the passage of the girl whomFarrel had noticed when he first entered the car.

To Farrel, at least, a surprising incident now occurred. There wereeight vacant seats on the platform, and the girl's glance swept themall; he fancied it rested longest upon the chair beside him. Then,with the faintest possible little moue of disapproval, she seatedherself beside the Japanese. The other man took the seat in front ofthe girl, half turned, and entered into conversation with the Jap.

Farrel studied the trio with interest, decided that they were travelingtogether, and that the man in the gray tweeds was the father of thegirl. She bore a striking resemblance to him and had inherited hishandsome features a thousandfold, albeit her eyes were different, beinglarge, brown, and wide apart; from them beamed a sweetness, abenignancy, and tenderness that, to the impressionable Farrel, bespokemental as well as physical beauty. She was gowned, gloved, and hattedwith rich simplicity.

"I think that white man is from the East," Farrel concluded, althoughwhy that impression came to him, he would have been at a loss toexplain. Perhaps it was because he appeared to associate on terms ofsocial equality with a Japanese whose boorishness, coupled with anevident desire to agree with everything the white man said, proclaimedhim anything but a consular representative or a visiting merchant.

Presently the girl's brown eyes were turned casually in Farrel'sdirection, seemingly without interest. Instantly he rose, fixed herwith a comprehending look, nodded almost imperceptibly toward the chairhe was vacating, and returned to his seat inside the car. Her finebrows lifted a trifle; her slight inclination of the head was robbed ofthe chill of brevity by a fleeting smile of gratitude, not so much forthe sacrifice of his seat in her favor as for the fine courtesy whichhad moved him to proffer it without making of his action an excuse tosit beside her and attempt an acquaintance.

From his exile, Farrel observed with satisfaction how quickly the girlexcused herself to her companions and crossed over to the seat vacatedin her favor.

At the first call for luncheon, he entered the diner and was given aseat at a small table. The seat opposite him was unoccupied, and whenthe girl entered the diner alone and was shown to this vacant seat,Farrel thrilled pleasurably.

"Three long, loud ones for you, young lady!" he soliloquized. "Youdidn't care to eat at the same table with the brown beggar; so you cameto luncheon alone."

As their glances met, there was in Farrel's black eyes no hint ofrecognition, for he possessed in full measure all of the modesty andtimidity of the most modest and timid race on earth where women areconcerned—the Irish—tempered with the exquisite courtesy of that racefor whom courtesy and gallantry toward woman are a tradition—theSpanish of that all but extinct Californian caste known as the gente.

It pleased Farrel to pretend careful study of the menu. Although hispreferences in food were simple, he was extraordinarily hungry and knewexactly what he wanted. For long months he had dreamed of aporterhouse steak smothered in mushrooms, and now, finding thatappetizing viand listed on the menu, he ordered it without givingmature deliberation to the possible consequences of his act. For thepast two months he had been forced to avoid, when dining alone, meatsserved in such a manner as to necessitate firm and skilful manipulationof a knife—and when the waiter served his steak, he discovered, to hisembarrassment, that it was not particularly tender nor was his knifeeven reasonably sharp. Consequently, following an unsatisfactoryassault, he laid the knife aside and cast an anxious glance toward thekitchen, into which his waiter had disappeared; while awaiting the aidof this functionary, he hid his right hand under the table and gentlymassaged the back of it at a point where a vivid red scar showed.

He was aware that the girl was watching him, and, with the fascinationpeculiar to such a situation, he could not forbear a quick glance ather. Interest and concern showed in the brown eyes, and she smiledfrankly, as she said:

"I very much fear, Mr. Ex-First Sergeant, that your steak constitutesan order you are unable to execute. Perhaps you will not mind if Icarve it for you."

"Please do not bother about me!" he exclaimed. "The waiter will behere presently. You are very kind, but———"

"Oh, I'm quite an expert in the gentle art of mothering military men.I commanded a hot-cake-and-doughnut brigade in France." She reachedacross the little table and possessed herself of his plate.

"I'll bet my last copeck you had good discipline, too," he declaredadmiringly. He could imagine the number of daring devils from whoseamorous advances even a hot-cake queen was not immune.

"The recipe was absurdly simple: No discipline, no hot-cakes. Andthere were always a sufficient number of good fellows around to squelchanybody who tried to interfere with my efficiency. By the way, Iobserved how hungrily you were looking out the window this morning.Quite a change from Siberia, isn't it?"

"How did you know I'd soldiered in Siberia?"

"You said you'd bet your last copeck."

"You should have served in Intelligence."

"You are blessed with a fair amount of intuition yourself."

"Oh, I knew you didn't want to sit near that Jap. Can't bear the racemyself."

She nodded approvingly.

"Waiter's still out in the kitchen," she reminded him. "Now, oldsoldier, aren't you glad I took pity on you? Your steak would havebeen cold before he got round to you, and I imagine you've hadsufficient cold rations to do you quite a while."

"It was sweet of you to come to my rescue. I'm not exactly crippled,though I haven't used my hand for more than two months, and the musclesare slightly atrophied. The knife slips because I cannot close my handtightly. But I'll be all right in another month."

"What happened to it?"

"Saber-thrust. Wouldn't have amounted to much if the Bolshevik who didthe thrusting had had a clean saber. Blood-poisoning set in, but ourbattalion surgeon got to work on it in time to save me from beingpermanently crippled."

"'Saber-thrust?' They got that close to you?"

He nodded.

"Troop of sem*noff's bandits in a little two-by-four fight out on thetrans-Siberian railroad. Guess they wanted the trainload of rations wewere guarding. My captain killed the fellow who stuck me and accountedfor four others who tried to finish me."

"Captains think a great deal of good first sergeants," she suggested."And you got a wound-chevron out of it. I suppose, like every soldier,you wanted one, provided it didn't cost too much."

"Oh, yes. And I got mine rather cheap. The battalion surgeon fixed itso I didn't have to go to the hospital. Never missed a day of duty."

She handed him his plate with the steak cut into bits.

"It was nice of you to surrender your cozy seat to me this morning,Sergeant." She buttered a piece of bread for him and added, "But verymuch nicer the way you did it."

"'Cast thy bread upon the waters,'" he quoted, and grinned brazenly."Nevertheless, if I were in civvies, you'd have permitted the waiter tocut my steak."

"Oh, of course we veterans must stand together, Sergeant."

"I find it pleasanter sitting together. By the way, may I ask theidentity of the Nipponese person, with your father?"

"How do you know he is my father?" she parried.

"I do not know. I merely thought he looked quite worthy of the honor."

"While away with the rough, bad soldiers, you did not forget how tomake graceful speeches," she complimented him. "The object of yourpardonable curiosity is a Mr. Okada, the potato baron of California.He was formerly prime minister to the potato king of the San Joaquin,but revolted and became a pretender to the throne. While the kinglives, however, Okada is merely a baron, although in a few years hewill probably control the potato market absolutely."

He thumped the table lightly with his maimed hand.

"I knew he was just a coolie dressed up."

She reached for an olive.

"Go as far as you like, native son. He's no friend of mine."

"Well, in that case, I'll spare his life," he countered boldly. "AndI've always wanted to kill a Japanese potato baron. Do you not thinkit would be patriotic of me to immolate myself and reduce the cost ofspuds?"

"I never eat them. They're very fattening. Now, if you really wish tobe a humanitarian, why not search out the Japanese garlic king?"

"I dare not. His demise would place me in bad odor."

She laughed merrily. Evidently she was finding him amusing company.She looked him over appraisingly and queried bluntly,

"Were you educated abroad?"

"I was not. I'm a product of a one-room schoolhouse perched on a barehill down in San Marcos County."

"But you speak like a college man."

"I am. I'm a graduate of the University of California AgriculturalCollege, at Davis. I'm a sharp on pure-bred beef cattle, pure-bredswine, and irrigation. I know why hens decline to lay when eggs areworth eighty cents a dozen, and why young turkeys are so blamed hard toraise in the fall. My grandfather and my father were educated atTrinity College, Dublin, and were sharps on Latin and Greek, but Inever figured the dead languages as much of an aid to a man doomed frombirth to view cows from the hurricane-deck of a horse."

"But you have such a funny little clipped accent."

He opened his great black eyes in feigned astonishment.

"Oh, didn't you know?" he whispered.

"Know what?"

"Unfortunate young woman!" he murmured to his water-glass. "No wondershe sits in public with that pudgy son of a chrysanthemum, when sheisn't even able to recognize a greaser at a glance. Oh, Lord!"

"You're not a greaser," she challenged.

"No?" he bantered. "You ought to see me squatting under an avocadotree, singing the 'Spanish Cavalier' to a guitar accompaniment.Listen: I'll prove it without the accompaniment." And he hummedsoftly:

"The Spanish cavalier,
Went out to rope a steer,
Along with his paper cigar-o,
'Car-ramba!' says he.
'Mañana you will be
Mucho bueno carne par mio!'"

Her brown eyes danced.

"That doesn't prove anything except that you're an incorrigible Celt.When you stooped down to kiss the stone at Blarney Castle, you lostyour balance and fell in the well. And you've dripped blarney eversince."

"Oh, not that bad, really! I'm a very serious person ordinarily. Thatlittle forget-me-not of language is a heritage of my childhood. Mothertaught me to pray in Spanish, and I learned that language first.Later, my grandfather taught me to swear in English with an Irishaccent, and I've been fearfully balled up ever since. It's veryinconvenient."

"Be serious, soldier, or I shall not cut your meat for you at dinner."

"Excuse me. I forgot I was addressing a hot-cake queen. But please donot threaten me, because I'm out of the army just twenty-four hours,and I'm independent and I may resent it. I can order spoon-victuals,you know."

"You aren't really Spanish?"

"Not really. Mostly. I'd fight a wild bull this minute for a singlered-chilli pepper. I eat them raw."

"And you're going home to your ranch now?"

"Si. And I'll not take advantage of any stop-over privileges on theway, either. Remember the fellow in the song who kept on proclaimingthat he had to go back—that he must go back—that he would go back—tothat dear old Chicago town? Well, that poor exile had only justcommenced to think that he ought to begin feeling the urge to go home.And when you consider that the unfortunate man hailed from Chicago,while I——" He blew a kiss out the window and hummed:

"I love you, California. You're the greatest state of all———"

"Oh dear! You native sons are all alike. Congenital advertisers,every one."

"Well, isn't it beautiful? Isn't it wonderful?" He was serious now.

"One-half of your state is worthless mountain country———"

"He-country—and beautiful!" he interrupted.

"The other half is desert."

"Ever see the Mojave in the late afternoon from the top of the TejonPass?" he challenged. "The wild, barbaric beauty of it? And withwater it would be a garden-spot."

"Of course your valleys are wonderful."

"Gracias, señorita."

"But the bare brown hills in summer-time—and the ghost-rivers of theSouth! I do not think they are beautiful."

"They grow on one," he assured her earnestly. "You wait and see. Iwish you could ride over the hills back of Sespe with me thisafternoon, and see the San Gregorio valley in her new spring gown. Ah,how my heart yearns for the San Gregorio!"

To her amazement, she detected a mistiness in his eyes, and hergenerous heart warmed to him.

"How profoundly happy you are!" she commented.

"'Happy'? I should tell a man! I'm as happy as a co*ck valley-quailwith a large family and no coyotes in sight. Wow! This steak is good."

"Not very, I think. It's tough."

"I have good teeth."

She permitted him to eat in silence for several minutes, and when hehad disposed of the steak, she asked,

"You live in the San Gregorio valley?"

He nodded.

"We have a ranch there also," she volunteered. "Father acquired itrecently."

"From whom did he acquire it?"

"I do not know the man's name, but the ranch is one of those oldMexican grants. It has a Spanish name. I'll try to remember it." Sheknitted her delicate brows. "It's Pal-something or other."

"Is it the Palomares grant?" he suggested.

"I think it is. I know the former owner is dead, and my fatheracquired the ranch by foreclosure of mortgage on the estate."

"Then it's the Palomares grant. My father wrote in his last letterthat old man Gonzales had died and that a suit to foreclose themortgage had been entered against the estate. The eastern edge of thatgrant laps over the lower end of the San Gregorio. Is your father abanker?"

"He controls the First National Bank of El Toro."

"That settles the identity of the ranch. Gonzales was mortgaged to theFirst National." He smiled a trifle foolishly. "You gave me a bad tenseconds," he explained. "I thought you meant my father's ranch atfirst."

"Horrible!" She favored him with a delightful little grimace ofsympathy. "Just think of coming home and finding yourself homeless!"

"I think such a condition would make me wish that Russian had beengiven time to finish what he started. By the way, I knew all of thestockholders in the First National Bank, of El Toro. Your father is anewcomer. He must have bought out old Dan Hayes' interest." Shenodded affirmatively. "Am I at liberty to be inquisitive—just alittle bit?" he queried.

"That depends, Sergeant. Ask your question, and if I feel at libertyto answer it, I shall."

"Is that Japanese, Okada, a member of your party?"

"Yes; he is traveling with us. He has a land-deal on with my father."

"Ah!"

She glanced across at him with new interest.

"There was resentment in that last observation of yours," shechallenged.

"In common with all other Californians with manhood enough to resentimposition, I resent all Japanese."

"Is it true, then, that there is a real Japanese problem out here?"

"Why, I thought everybody knew that," he replied, a triflereproachfully. "As the outpost of Occidental civilization, we've beenbattling Oriental aggression for forty years."

"I had thought this agitation largely the mouthings of professionalagitators—a part of the labor-leaders' plan to pose as the watch-dogsof the rights of the California laboring man."

"That is sheer buncombe carefully fostered by a very efficient corps ofJapanese propagandists. The resentment against the Japanese invasionof California is not confined to any class, but is a very vital issuewith every white citizen of the state who has reached the age of reasonand regardless of whether he was born in California or Timbuctoo.Look!"

He pointed to a huge sign-board fronting a bend in the highway that ranclose to the railroad track and parallel with it:

"This is entirely an agricultural section," he explained. "There areno labor-unions here. But," he added bitterly, "you could throw astone in the air and be moderately safe on the small end of a bet thatthe stone would land on a Jap farmer."

"Do the white farmers think that sign will frighten them away?"

"No; of course not. That sign is merely a polite intimation to whitemen who may contemplate selling or leasing their lands to Japs that theorganized sentiment of this community is against such a course. Thelower standards of living of the Oriental enable him to pay much higherprices for land than a white man can."

"But," she persisted, "these aliens have a legal right to own and leaseland in this state, have they not?"

"Unfortunately, through the treachery of white lawyers, they havedevised means to comply with the letter of a law denying them the rightto own land, while evading the spirit of that law. Corporations withwhite dummy directors—purchases by alien Japs in the names of theirinfants in arms who happen to have been born in this country———" heshrugged.

"Then you should amend your laws."

He looked at her with the faintest hint of cool belligerence in hisfine dark eyes.

"Every time we Californians try to enact a law calculated to keep ourstate a white man's country, you Easterners, who know nothing of ourproblem, and are too infernally lazy to read up on it, permityourselves to be stampeded by that hoary shibboleth of straineddiplomatic relations with the Mikado's government. Pressure is broughtto bear on us from the seat of the national government; the Presidentsends us a message to proceed cautiously, and our loyalty to thesisterhood of states is used as a club to beat our brains out. Once,when we were all primed to settle this issue decisively, the immortalTheodore Roosevelt—our two-fisted, non-bluffable President at thattime—made us call off our dogs. Later, when again we began to squirmunder our burden, the Secretary of State, pacific William J. Bryan,hurried out to our state capital, held up both pious hands, and cried:'Oh, no! Really, you mustn't! We insist that you consider the othermembers of the family. Withhold this radical legislation until we cansettle this row amicably.' Well, we were dutiful sons. We tried outthe gentleman's agreement imposed on us in 1907, but when, in 1913, weknew it for a failure, we passed our Alien Land Bill, which hamperedbut did not prevent, although we knew from experience that the class ofJaps who have a strangle-hold on California are not gentlemen butcoolies, and never respect an agreement they can break if, in thebreaking, they are financially benefited."

"Well," the girl queried, a little subdued by his vehemence, "how hasthat law worked out?"

"Fine—for the Japs. The Japanese population of California has doubledin five years; the area of fertile lands under their domination hasincreased a thousand-fold, until eighty-five per cent. of thevegetables raised in this state are controlled by Japs. They are not adull people, and they know how to make that control yield richdividends—at the expense of the white race. That man Okada is calledthe 'potato baron' because presently he will actually control thepotato crop of central California—and that is where most of thepotatoes of this state are raised. Which reminds me that I started toask you a question about him. Do you happen to know if he iscontemplating expanding his enterprise to include a section of southernCalifornia?"

"I suppose I ought not discuss my father's business affairs with astranger," she replied, "but since he is making no secret of them, Idare say I do not violate his confidence when I tell you that he has adeal on with Mr. Okada to colonize the San Gregorio valley in SanMarcos County."

The look of a thousand devils leaped into Farrel's eyes. The storm ofpassion that swept him was truly Latin in its terrible intensity. Heglared at the girl with a malevolence that terrified her.

"My valley'" he managed to murmur presently. "My beautiful SanGregorio! Japs! Japs!"

"I hadn't the faintest idea that information would upset you so," thegirl protested. "Please forgive me."

"I—I come from the San Gregorio," he cried passionately. "I loveevery rock and cactus and rattlesnake in it. Válgame Dios!" And themaimed right hand twisted and clutched as, subconsciously, he strove toclench his fist. "Ah, who was the coward—who was the traitor thatbetrayed us for a handful of silver?"

"Yes; I believe there is a great deal of the Latin about you," she saiddemurely. "If I had a temper as volcanic as yours, I would never,never go armed."

"I could kill with my naked hands the white man who betrays hiscommunity to a Jap. Madre de Dios, how I hate them!"

"Well, wait until your trusty right hand is healed before you trygarroting anybody," she suggested dryly. "Suppose you cool off, Mr.Pepper-pot, and tell me more about this terrible menace?"

"You are interested—really?"

"I could be made to listen without interrupting you, if you could bringyourself to cease glaring at me with those terrible chile-con-carneeyes. I can almost see myself at my own funeral. Please remember thatI have nothing whatsoever to do with my father's business affairs."

"Your father looks like a human being, and if he realized the economiccrime he is fostering———"

"Easy, soldier! You're discussing my father, whereas I desire todiscuss the Yellow Peril. To begin, are you prejudiced against acitizen of Japan just because he's a Jap?"

"I will be frank. I do not like the race. To a white man, there isnothing lovable about a Jap, nothing that would lead, except inisolated cases, to a warm friendship between members of our race andtheirs. And I dare say the individual Jap has as instinctive a dislikefor us as we have for him."

"Well then, how about John Chinaman?"

His face brightened.

"Oh, a Chinaman is different. He's a regular fellow. You can have agreat deal of respect and downright admiration for a Chinaman, even ofthe coolie class."

"Nevertheless, the Chinese are excluded from California."

He nodded.

"But not because of strong racial prejudice. The Chinese, like anyother Oriental, are not assimilable; also, like the Jap and the Hindu,they are smart enough to know a good thing when they see it—andCalifornia looks good to everybody. John Chinaman would overrun us ifwe permitted it, but since he is a mighty decent sort and realizes thesanity of our contention that he is not assimilable with us, or we withhim, he admits the wisdom and justice of our slogan: 'California forwhite men.' There was no protest from Peking when we passed theExclusion Act. Now, however, when we endeavor to exclude Japanese,Tokio throws a fit. But if we can muster enough courage among ourstate legislators to pass a law that will absolutely divorce theJapanese coolie from California land, we can cope with him in otherlines of trade."

She had listened earnestly to his argument, delivered with all theearnestness of which he was capable.

"Why is he not assimilable?" she asked.

"Would you marry the potato baron?" he demanded bluntly.

"Certainly not!" she answered.

"He has gobs of money. Is that not a point worthy of consideration?"

"Not with me. It never could be."

"Perhaps you have gobs of money also."

"If I were a scrubwoman, and starving, I wouldn't consider a proposalof marriage from that Jap sufficiently long to reject it."

"Then you have answered your own question," he reminded hertriumphantly. "The purity of our race—aye, the purity of the Japaneserace—forbids intermarriage; hence we are confronted with theintolerable prospect of sharing our wonderful state with an alien racethat must forever remain, alien—in thought, language, morals,religion, patriotism, and standards of living. They will dominate us,because they are a dominant people; they will shoulder us aside,control us, dictate to us, and we shall disappear from this beautifulland as surely and as swiftly as did the Mission Indian. While theSouth has its negro problem—and a sorry problem it is—we Californianshave had an infinitely more dangerous problem thrust upon us. We'vegot to shake them off. We've got to!"

"I'll speak to my father. I do not think he understands—that he fullyrealizes———"

"Ah! Thank you so much. Your father is rich, is he not?"

"I think he possesses more money than he will ever need," she repliedsoberly.

"Please try to make him see that the big American thing to do would beto colonize his land in the San Gregorio for white men and take alesser profit. Really, I do not relish the idea of Japanese neighbors."

"You live there, then?"

He nodded.

"Hope to die there, too. You leave the train at El Toro, I suppose?"

"My father has telegraphed mother to have the car meet us there. Weshall motor out to the ranch. And are you alighting at El Toro also?"

"No. I plan to pile off at Sespe, away up the line, and take a shortcut via a cattle-trail over the hills. I'll hike it."

She hesitated slightly. Then:

"I'm sure father would be very happy to give you a lift out from ElToro, Sergeant. We shall have oodles of room."

"Thank you. You are very kind. But the fact is," he went on toexplain, "nobody knows I'm coming home, and I have a childish desire tosneak in the back way and surprise them. Were I to appear in El Toro,I'd have to shake hands with everybody in town and relate a history ofmy exploits and———"

"I understand perfectly. You just want to get home, don't you?" Andshe bent upon him a smile of complete understanding—a smileall-compelling, maternal. "But did you say you'd hike it in fromSespe? Why not hire a horse?"

"I'd like to have a horse, and if I cared to ask far one, I couldborrow one. But I'll hike it instead. It will be easy in lightmarching-order."

"Speaking of horses," she said abruptly. "Do you know a horse in theSan Gregorio named Panchito?"

"A very dark chestnut with silver mane and tail, five-gaited, and asstylish as a lady?"

"The very same."

"I should say I do know that horse! What about him?"

"My father is going to buy him for me."

This was news, and Farrel's manner indicated as much.

"Where did you see Panchito?" he demanded.

"An Indian named Pablo rode him into El Toro to be shod one day whilewe were living at the hotel there. He's perfectly adorable."

"Pablo? Hardly. I know the old rascal."

"Be serious. Panchito—I was passing the blacksmith's shop, and Isimply had to step in and admire him."

"That tickled old Pablo to death—of course."

"It did. He put Panchito through all of his tricks for me, and, afterthe horse was shod, he permitted me to ride the dear for half an hour.Pablo was so kind! He waited until I could run back to the hotel andchange into my riding-habit."

"Did you try to give Pablo some money—say, about five dollars?" hedemanded, smilingly.

"Yes." Her eyes betrayed wonder.

"He declined it with profuse thanks, didn't he?"

"You're the queerest man I've ever met. Pablo did refuse it. How didyou know?"

"I know Pablo. He wouldn't take money from a lady. It's against thecode of the Rancho Palomar, and if his boss ever heard that he hadfractured that code, he'd skin him alive."

"Not Pablo's boss. Pablo told me his Don Mike, as he calls him, waskilled by the bewhiskered devils in a cold country the name of which hehad heard but could not remember. He meant Siberia."

Farrel sat up suddenly.

"What's that?" he cried sharply. "He told you Don Mike had beenkilled?"

"Yes—poor fellow! Pablo said Don Mike's father had had a telegramfrom the War Department."

Farrel's first impulse was to curse the War Department—in Spanish, soshe would not understand. His second was to laugh, and his third toburst into tears. How his father had suffered! Then he rememberedthat to-night, he, the said Don Mike, was to have the proud privilegeof returning from Valhalla, of bringing the light of joy back to thefaded eyes of old Don Miguel, and in the swift contemplation of thedrama and the comedy impending, he stood staring at her ratherstupidly. Pablo would doubtless believe he was a ghost returned tohaunt old scenes; the majordomo would make the sign of the cross andstart running, never pausing till he would reach the Mission of theMother of Sorrows, there to pour forth his unbelievable tale to FatherDominic. Whereupon Father Dominic would spring into his prehistoricautomobile and come up to investigate. Great jumped-up Jehoshaphat!What a climax to two years of soldiering!

"Wha—what—why—do you mean to tell me poor old Mike Farrel has lostthe number of his mess?" he blurted. "Great snakes! That news breaksme all up in business."

"You knew him well, then?"

"'Knew him?' Why, I ate with him, slept with turn, rode with him, wentto school with him. Know him? I should tell a man! We even soldieredtogether in Siberia; but, strange to say, I hadn't heard of his death."

"Judging by all the nice things I heard about him in El Toro, his deathwas a genuine loss to his section of the country. Everybody appears tohave known him and loved him."

"One has to die before his virtues are apparent to some people," Farrelmurmured philosophically. "And now that Don Mike Farrel is dead, youhope to acquire Panchito, eh?"

"I'll be broken-hearted if I cannot."

"He'll cost you a lot of money."

"He's worth a lot of money."

He gazed at her very solemnly.

"I am aware that what I am about to say is but poor return for yoursweet courtesy, but I feel that you might as well begin now to abandonall hope of ever owning Panchito."

"Why?"

"I—I hate to tell you this, but the fact is—I'm going to acquire him."

She shook, her head and smiled at him—the superior smile of one quiteconscious of her strength.

"He is to be sold at public auction," she informed him. "And the manwho outbids me for that horse will have to mortgage his ranch andborrow money on his Liberty Bonds."

"We shall see that which we shall see," he returned, enigmatically."Waiter, bring me my check, please."

While the waiter was counting out the change from a twenty-dollar bill,Farrel resumed his conversation with the girl.

"Do you plan to remain in the San Gregorio very long?"

"All summer, I think."

He rose from his chair and bowed to her with an Old-World courtliness.

"Once more I thank you for your kindness to me, señorita," he said."It is a debt that I shall always remember—and rejoice because I cannever repay it. I dare say we shall meet again in the very nearfuture, and when we do, I am going to arrange matters so that I mayhave the honor of being properly introduced." He pocketed his change."Until some day in the San Gregorio, then," he finished, "adios!"

Despite his smile, her woman's intuition told her that something morepoignant than the threatened Japanese invasion of the San Gregoriovalley had cast a shadow over his sunny soul. She concluded it musthave been the news of the death of his childhood chum, the beloved DonMike.

"What a wonderful fellow Don Mike must have been!" she mused. "Whitemen sing his praises, and Indians and mixed breeds cry them. No wonderthis ex-soldier plans to outbid me for Panchito. He attaches asentimental value to the horse because of his love for poor Don Mike.I wonder if I ought to bid against him under the circ*mstances. Poordear! He wants his buddy's horse so badly. He's really very nice—soold-fashioned and sincere. And he's dreadfully good-looking."

"Nature was overgenerous with that young lady," Farrel decided, as hemade his way up to the smoking-car. "As a usual thing, she seldomdispenses brains with beauty—and this girl has both. I wonder who shecan be? Well, she's too late for Panchito. She may have any otherhorse on the ranch, but———"

He glanced down at the angry red scar on the back of his right hand andremembered. What a charger was Panchito for a battery commander!

IV

Farrel remained in the smoking-car throughout the rest of his journey,for he feared the possibility of a renewal of acquaintance with hisquondam companion of the dining-car should he return to theobservation-platform. He did not wish to meet her as a dischargedsoldier, homeward bound—the sort of stray dog every man, woman, andchild feels free to enter into conversation with and question regardinghis battles, wounds, and post-office address. When he met that girlagain, he wanted to meet her as Don Miguel José Farrel, of Palomar. Hewas not so unintelligent as to fail to realize that in his own countryhe was a personage, and he had sufficient self-esteem to desire her torealize it also. He had a feeling that, should they meet frequently inthe future, they would become very good friends. Also, he lookedforward with quiet amusem*nt to the explanations that would ensue whenthe supposedly dead should return to life.

During their brief conversation, she had given him much food forthought—so much, in fact, that presently he forgot about her entirely.His mind was occupied with the problem that confronts practically alldischarged soldiers—that of readjustment, not to the life of pre-wardays, but to one newer, better, more ambitious, and efficient. Farrelrealized that a continuation of his dolce-far-niente life on theRancho Palomar under the careless, generous, and rather shiftlessadministration of his father was not for him. Indeed, the threatenedinvasion of the San Gregorio by Japanese rendered imperative animmediate decision to that effect. He was the first of an ancientlineage who had even dreamed of progress; he had progressed, and hecould never, by any possibility, afford to retrograde.

The Farrels had never challenged competition. They had been content tomake their broad acres pay a sum sufficient to meet operating-expensesand the interest-charges on the ancient mortgage, meanwhile supportingthemselves in all the ease and comfort of their class by nibbling attheir principal. Just how far his ancestors had nibbled, the last ofthe Farrels was not fully informed, but he was young and optimistic,and believed that, with proper management and the application of modernranching principles, he would succeed, by the time he was fifty, insaving this principality intact for those who might come after him, forit was not a part of his life plan to die childless—now that the warwas over and he out of it practically with a whole skin. This aspectof his future he considered as the train rolled into the Southland. Hewas twenty-eight years old, and he had never been in love, although,since his twenty-first birthday, his father and Don Juan Sepulvida, ofthe Rancho Carpajo, had planned a merger of their involved estatesthrough the simple medium of a merger of their families. AnitaSepulvida was a beauty that any man might be proud of; her blood was ofthe purest and best, but, with a certain curious hard-headedness (thefaint strain of Scotch in him, in all likelihood), Don Mike haddeclined to please the oldsters by paying court to her.

"There's sufficient of the mañana spirit in our tribe now, even withthe Celtic admixture," he had declared forcibly. "I believe that likebegets like in the human family as well as in the animal kingdom, andwe know from experience that it never fails there. An infusion of pepis what our family needs, and I'll be hanged if I relish the job ofrehabilitating two decayed estates for a posterity that I know could nomore compete with the Anglo-Saxon race than did their ancestors."

Whereat, old Don Miguel, who possessed a large measure of the Celticinstinct for domination, had informed Don Mike that the latter was tooinfernally particular. By the blood of the devil, his son's statementindicated a certain priggishness, which he, Don Miguel, could notdeplore too greatly.

"You taught me pride of race," his son reminded him. "I merely desireto improve our race by judicious selection when I mate. And, ofcourse, I'll have to love the woman I marry. And I do not love AnitaSepulvida."

"She loves you," the old don had declared bluntly.

"Then she's playing in hard luck. Believe me, father, I'm no prig, butI do realize the necessity for grafting a little gringo hustle to ourfamily tree. Consider the supergrandson you will have if you leave meto follow my own desires in this matter. In him will be blended thecourtliness and chivalry of Spain, the imagery and romance andbelligerency of the Irish, the thrift and caution of the Scotch, andthe go-get-him-boy, knock-down-and-drag-out spirit of our own UncleSam. Why, that's a combination you cannot improve upon!"

"I wish I could fall in love with some fine girl, marry her, and givemy father optical assurance, before he passes on, that the Farrel tribeis not, like the mule, without pride of ancestry or hope of posterity,"he mused; "but I'll be shot if I'll ever permit myself to fall in lovewith the sort of woman I want until I know I have something moretangible than love and kisses to offer her. About all I own in thisworld is this old uniform and Panchito—and I'm getting home just intime to prevent my father from selling him at auction for the benefitof my estate. And since I'm going to chuck this uniform to-morrow andgive Panchito away the day after—by the gods of War, that girl gave mea fright when she was trying to remember the name of old man Gonzales'sranch! If it had been the Palomar instead of the Palomares! I mightbe able to stand the sight of Japs on the Palomares end of the SanGregorio, but on the Palomar———"

At four o'clock, when the train whistled for Sespe, he hurried back tothe observation-car to procure his baggage preparatory to alightingfrom the train. The girl sat in the seat opposite his, and she lookedup at him now with friendly eyes.

"Would you care to leave your things in the car and entrust them tofather's man?" she queried. "We would be glad to take them in themotor as far as the mission. My father suggested it," she added.

"Your father's a brick. I shall be happy to accept, thank you. Justtell the chauffeur to leave them off in front of the mission and I'llpick them up when I come over the trail from Sespe. I can make farbetter time over the hills without this suitcase, light as it is."

"You're exceedingly welcome, Sergeant. And, by the way, I have decidednot to contest your right to Panchito. It wouldn't be sporty of me tooutbid you for your dead buddy's horse."

His heart leaped.

"I think you're tremendously sweet," he declared bluntly. "As mattersstand, we happen to have a half-brother of Panchito up on theranch—or, at least, we did have when I enlisted. He's coming four,and he ought to be a beauty. I'll break him for you myself. However,"he added, with a deprecatory grin, "I—I realize you're not the sort ofgirl who accepts gifts from strangers; so, if you have a nickel on you,I'll sell you this horse, sight unseen. If he's gone, I'll give thenickel back."

"You are quite right," she replied, with an arch smile. "I could notpossibly accept a gift from a stranger. Neither could I buy a horsefrom a stranger—no; not even at the ridiculous price of five cents."

"Perhaps if I introduced myself—have I your permission to be thatbold?"

"Well," she replied, still with that bright, friendly, understandingsmile, "that might make a difference."

"I do not deserve such consideration. Consequently, for your gentleforbearance, you shall be accorded a unique privilege—that of meetinga dead soldier. I am Miguel José Farrel, better known as 'Don Mike,'of the Rancho Palomar, and I own Panchito. To quote the language ofMark Twain, 'the report of my death has been grossly exaggerated,' asis the case of several thousand other soldiers in this man's army." Hechuckled as he saw a look of amazement replace the sweet smile. "Andyou are Miss—" he queried.

She did not answer. She could only stare at him, and in that look hethought he noted signs of perturbation. While he had talked, the trainhad slid to a momentary halt for the flag-station, and while he waitednow for her name, the train began creeping out of Sespe.

"All right," he laughed. "You can tell me your name when we meetagain. I must run for it. Good-by." He hurried through the screendoor to the platform, stepped over the brass railing, and clung there amoment, looking back into the car at her before dropping lightly to theground between the tracks.

"Now what the devil is the meaning of that?" he mused, as he stoodthere watching the train. "There were tears in her eyes."

He crossed the tracks, climbed a fence, and after traversing a smallpiece of bottom-land, entered a trail through the chaparral, andstarted his upward climb to the crest of the range that hid the SanGregorio. Suddenly he paused.

Had the girl's unfamiliarity with Spanish names caused her to confusePalomar with Palomares? And why was Panchito to be sold at auction?Was it like his father to sacrifice his son's horse to any fellow withthe money to buy him? No! No! Rather would he sell his own mount andretain Panchito for the sake of the son he mourned as dead. ThePalomares end of the San Gregorio was too infertile to interest anexperienced agriculturist like Okada; there wasn't sufficient acreageto make a colonization-scheme worth while. On the contrary, fiftythousand acres of the Rancho Palomar lay in the heart of the valley andimmediately contiguous to the flood-waters at the head of theghost-river for which the valley was named.

Don Mike, of Palomar, leaned against the bole of a scrub-oak and closedhis eyes in sudden pain. Presently, he roused himself and went his waywith uncertain step, for, from time to time, tears blinded him. Andthe last of the sunlight had faded from the San Gregorio before hetopped the crest of its western boundary; the melody of BrotherFlavio's angelus had ceased an hour previous, and over the mountains tothe east a full moon stood in a cloudless sky, flooding the silentvalley with its silver light, and pricking out in bold relief thegray-white walls of the Mission de la Madre Dolorosa, crumblingsouvenir of a day that was done.

He ran down the long hill, and came presently to the mission. In thegrass beside the white road, he searched for his straw suitcase, hisgas-mask, and the helmet, but failing to find them, he concluded thegirl had neglected to remind her father's chauffeur to throw them offin front of the mission, as promised. So he passed along the front ofthe ancient pile and let himself in through a wooden door in the highadobe wall that surrounded the churchyard immediately adjacent to themission. With the assurance of one who treads familiar ground, hestrode rapidly up a weed-grown path to a spot where a tallblack-granite monument proclaimed that here rested the clay of onesuperior to his peon and Indian neighbors. And this was so, for theshaft marked the grave of the original Michael Joseph Farrel, theadventurer the sea had cast up on the shore of San Marcos County.

Immediately to the left of this monument, Don Mike saw a grave that hadnot been there when he left the Palomar. At the head of it stood atile taken from the ruin of the mission roof, and on this brown tilesome one had printed in rude lettering with white paint:

The last scion of that ancient house knelt in the mold of his father'sgrave and made the sign of the cross.

V

The tears which Don Mike Farrel had descried in the eyes of hisacquaintance on the train were, as he came to realize when he climbedthe steep cattle-trail from Sespe, the tribute of a gentle heart movedto quick and uncontrollable sympathy. Following their conversation inthe dining-car, the girl—her name was Kay Parker—had continued herluncheon, her mind busy with thoughts of this strange home-boundex-soldier who had so signally challenged her attention. "There'sbreeding back of that man," the girl mused. "He's only a rancher's sonfrom the San Gregorio; where did he acquire his drawing-room manners?"

She decided, presently, that they were not drawing-room manners. Theywere too easy and graceful and natural to have been acquired. He musthave been born with them. There was something old-fashioned abouthim—as if part of him dwelt in the past century. He appeared to bequite certain of himself, yet there was not even a hint of ego in hiscosmos. His eyes were wonderful—and passionless, like a boy's. Yes;there was a great deal of the little boy about him, for all his years,his wounds, and his adventures. Kay thought him charming, yet he didnot appear to be aware of his charm, and this fact increased herattraction to him. It pleased her that he had preferred to discuss theJapanese menace rather than his own exploits, and had been human enoughto fly in a rage when told of her father's plans with the potato baron.Nevertheless, he had himself under control, for he had smothered hisrage as quickly as he had permitted it to flare up.

"Curious man!" the girl concluded. "However—he's a man, and when wemeet again, I'm going to investigate thoroughly and see what else hehas in his head."

Upon further reflection, she reminded herself that he hadn't disclosed,in anything he had said, the fact that his head contained thoughts orinformation of more than ordinary value. He had merely created thatimpression. Even his discussion of the Japanese problem had beencursory, and, as she mentally back-tracked on their conversation, theonly striking remark of his which she recalled was his whimsicalassurance that he knew why young turkeys are hard to raise in the fall.She smiled to herself.

"Well, Kay, did you find him pleasant company?"

She looked up and discovered her father slipping into the chair solately vacated by the object of her thoughts.

"'Lo, pop! You mean the ex-soldier?" He nodded. "Queerest man I'veever met. But he is pleasant company."

"I thought so. Tell me, daughter: What you were smiling about justnow."

"He said he knew why young turkeys are hard to raise in the fall."

"Why are they?"

"I don't know, dear. He didn't tell me. Can you?"

"The problem is quite beyond me, Kay." He unfolded his napkin."Splendid-looking young chap, that! Struck me he ought to have more inhis head than frivolous talk about the difficulty of rearing youngturkeys."

"I think he has a great deal more in his head than that. In fact, I donot understand why he should have mentioned young turkeys at all,because he's a cattleman. And he comes from the San Gregorio valley."

"Indeed! What's his name?"

"He didn't tell me. But he knows all about the ranch you took overfrom the Gonzales estate."

"But I didn't foreclose on that. It was the Farrel estate."

"He called it something else—the Palomares rancho, I think."

"Gonzales owns the Palomares rancho, but the Palomar rancho belonged toold Don Miguel Farrel."

"Was he the father of the boy they call 'Don Mike'—he who was killedin Siberia?"'

"The same."

"Why did you have to foreclose on his ranch, father?"

"Well, the interest had been unpaid for two years, and the old man wasgetting pretty feeble; so, after the boy was killed, I realized thatwas the end of the Farrel dynasty and that the mortgage would never bepaid. Consequently, in self-protection, I foreclosed. Of course,under the law, Don Miguel had a year's grace in which to redeem theproperty, and during that year I couldn't take possession without firstproving that he was committing waste upon it. However, the old mandied of a broken heart a few months after receiving news of his son'sdeath, and, in the protection of my interest, I was forced to petitionthe court to grant me permission to enter into possession. It was myduty to protect the equity of the heirs, if any."

"Are there any heirs?"

"None that we have been able to discover."

The girl thoughtfully traced a pattern on the tablecloth with the tineof her fork.

"How will it be possible for you to acquire that horse, Panchito, forme, dearest?" she queried presently.

"I have a deficiency judgment against the Rancho Palomar," heexplained. "Consequently, upon the expiration of the redemption periodof one year, I shall levy an attachment against the Farrel estate. Allthe property will be sold at public auction by the sheriff to satisfymy deficiency judgment, and I shall, of course, bid in this horse."

"I have decided I do not want him, father," she informed him halfsadly. "The ex-soldier is an old boyhood chum of the younger Farrelwho was killed, and he wants the horse."

He glanced at her with an expression of shrewd suspicion.

"As you desire, honey," he replied.

"But I want you to see to it that nobody else outbids him for thehorse," she continued, earnestly. "If some one should run the price upbeyond the limits of his purse, of course I want you to outbid thatsome one, but what I do not desire you to do is to run the price up onhim yourself. He wants the horse out of sentiment, and it isn't niceto force a wounded ex-service-man to pay a high price for hissentiment."

"Oh, I understand now," her father assured her. "Very well, littledaughter; I have my orders and will obey them."

"Precious old darling!" she whispered, gratefully, and pursed heradorable lips to indicate to him that he might consider himself kissed.His stern eyes softened in a glance of father-love supreme.

"Whose little girl are you?" he whispered, and, to that ancient queryof parenthood, she gave the reply of childhood:

"Daddy's."

"Just for that, I'll offer the soldier a tremendous profit on Panchito.We'll see what his sentiment is worth."

"Bet you a new hat, angel-face, you haven't money enough to buy him,"Kay challenged.

"Considering the cost of your hats, I'd be giving you rather long odds,Kay. You say this young man comes from the San Gregorio valley?"

"So he informed me."

"Well, there isn't a young man in the San Gregorio who doesn't need acouple of thousand dollars far worse than he needs a horse. I'll takeyour bet, Peaches. Of course you mentioned to him the fact that youwanted this horse?"

"Yes. And he said I couldn't have him—that he was going to acquirehim."

"Perhaps he was merely jesting with you."

"No; he meant it."

"I believe," he said, smiling, "that it is most unusual of young men toshow such selfish disregard of your expressed desires."

"Flatterer! I like him all the more for it. He's a man with somebackbone."

"So I noticed. He wears the ribbon of the Congressional Medal ofHonor. Evidently he is given to exceeding the speed-limit. Did hetell you how he won that pale-blue ribbon with the little white starssprinkled on it?"

"He did not. Such men never discuss those things."

"Well, they raise fighting men in the San Gregorio, at any rate," herfather continued. "Two Medal-of-Honor men came out of it. Old DonMiguel Farrel's boy was awarded one posthumously. I was in El Toro theday the commanding general of the Western Department came down from SanFrancisco and pinned the medal on old Don Miguel's breast. The oldfellow rode in on his son's horse, and when the little ceremony wasover, he mounted and rode back to the ranch alone. Not a tear, not aquiver. He looked as regal as the American eagle—and as proud.Looking at that old don, one could readily imagine the sort of son hehad bred. The only trouble with the Farrels," he added, critically,"was that they and work never got acquainted. If these oldCalifornians would consent to imbibe a few lessons in industry andeconomy from their Japanese neighbors, their wonderful state would besupporting thirty million people a hundred years from now."

"I wonder how many of that mythical thirty millions would be Japs?" shequeried, innocently.

"That is a problem with which we will not have to concern ourselves,Kay, because we shall not be here."

"Some day, popsy-wops, that soldier will drop in at our ranch and lockhorns with you on the Japanese question."

"When he does," Parker replied, good-naturedly, "I shall make astar-spangled monkey out of him. I'm loaded for these Californians.I've investigated their arguments, and they will not hold water, I tellyou. I'll knock out the contentions of your unknown knight liketenpins in a bowling-alley. See if I don't."

"He's nobody's fool, dad."

"Quite so. He knows why young turkeys are hard to raise in the fall?"

She bent upon him a radiant smile of the utmost good humor.

"Score one for the unknown knight," she bantered. "That is more thanwe know. And turkey was sixty cents a pound last Thanksgiving!Curious information from our view-point, perhaps, but profitable."

He chuckled over his salad.

"You're hopelessly won to the opposition," he declared. "Leave yourcheck for me, and I'll pay it. And if your unknown knight returns tothe observation-car, ask him about those confounded turkeys."

VI

But the unknown knight had not returned to the observation-car untilthe long train was sliding into Sespe, and Kay had no time to satisfyher thirst for information anent young turkeys. With unexpectedgarrulity, he had introduced himself; with the receipt of thisinformation, she had been rendered speechless, first with surprise, andthen with distress as her alert mind swiftly encompassed the pitifulawakening that was coming to this joyous home-comer. Before she couldmaster her emotions, he was disappearing over the brass rail at the endof the observation-car; even as he waved her a debonair farewell, shecaught the look of surprise and puzzlement in his black eyes.Wherefore, she knew the quick tears had betrayed her.

"Oh, you poor fellow!" she whispered to herself, as she dabbed at hereyes with a wisp of a lace handkerchief. "What a tragedy!"

What a tragedy, indeed!

She had never been in the San Gregorio, and to-day was to mark herfirst visit to the Rancho Palomar, although her father and mother andthe servants had been occupying the Farrel hacienda for the past twomonths. Of the beauty of that valley, of the charm of that ancientseat, she had heard much from her parents; if they could be soenthusiastic about it in two short months, how tremendously attached toit must be this cheerful Don Mike, who had been born and raised there,who was familiar with every foot of it, and doubtless cherished everytradition connected with it. He had imagination, and in imaginativepeople wounds drive deep and are hard to heal; he loved this land ofhis, not with the passive loyalty of the average American citizen, butwith the strange, passionate intensity of the native Californian forhis state. She had met many Californians, and, in this one particular,they had all been alike. No matter how far they had wandered from theGolden West, no matter how long or how pleasant had been their exile,they yearned, with a great yearning, for that intangible something thatall Californians feel but can never explain—which is found nowheresave in this land of romance and plenty, of hearty good will, of lifelived without too great effort, and wherein the desire to play givesbirth to that large and kindly tolerance that is the unfailingsweetener of all human association.

And Don Mike was hurrying home to a grave in the valley, to a home nolonger his, to the shock of finding strangers ensconced in the seat ofhis prideful ancestors, to the prospect of seeing the rich acres thatshould have been his giving sustenance to an alien race, while he mustturn to a brutal world for his daily bread earned by the sweat of hisbrow.

Curiously enough, in that moment, without having given very muchthought to the subject, she decided that she must help him bear it. Ina vague way, she felt that she must see him and talk with him before heshould come in contact with her father and mother. She wanted toexplain matters, hoping that he would understand that she, at least,was one of the interlopers who were not hostile to him.

For she did, indeed, feel like an interloper now. But, at the sametime, she realized, despite her small knowledge of the law, that, untilthe expiration of the redemption period, the equity of Don Mike in theproperty was unassailable. With that unpleasant sense of havingintruded came the realization that to-night the Parker family wouldoccupy the position of uninvited and unwelcome guests. It was not acomfortable thought.

Fortunately, the potato baron and her father were up in the smoker;hence, by the time the train paused at El Toro, Kay had composedherself sufficiently to face her father again without betraying to himany hint of the mental disturbance of the past forty minutes. Shedirected the porter in the disposition of Don Mike's scant impedimenta,and watched to see that the Parker chauffeur carried it from thestation platform over to the waiting automobile. As he was lashingtheir hand-baggage on the running-board, she said,

"William, how long will it take you to get out to the ranch?"

"Twenty miles, miss, over a narrow dirt road, and some of it windsamong hills. I ought to do it handily in an hour without taking anychances."

"Take a few chances," she ordered, in a voice meant for his ear alone."I'm in a hurry."

"Forty-five minutes, miss," he answered, in the same confidential tone.

Kay sat in the front seat with William, while her father and Okadaoccupied the tonneau. Within a few minutes, they were clear of thetown and rolling swiftly across a three-mile-wide mesa. Then theyentered a long, narrow cañon, which they traversed for several miles,climbed a six-per-cent. grade to the crest of a ridge, rolled down intoanother cañon, climbed another ridge, and from the summit gazed down onthe San Gregorio in all the glory of her new April gown. Kay gaspedwith the shock of such loveliness, and laid a detaining hand on thechauffeur's arm. Instantly he stopped the car.

"I always get a kick out of the view from here, miss," he informed her."Can you beat it? You can't!"

The girl sat with parted lips.

"This—this is the California he loves," she thought.

She closed her eyes to keep back the tears, and the car rolled gentlydown the grade into the valley. From the tonneau she could catchsnatches of the conversation between her father and the potato baron;they were discussing the agricultural possibilities of the valley, andshe realized, with a little twinge of outrage, that its wonderfulpastoral beauty had been quite lost on them.

As they swept past the mission, Kay deliberately refrained fromordering William to toss Don Mike's baggage off in front of the oldpile, for she knew now whither the latter was bound. She would savehim that added burden. Three miles from the mission, the road swung upa gentle grade between two long rows of ancient and neglected palms.The dead, withered fronds of a decade still clung to the corrugatedtrunks. In the adjoining oaks vast flocks of crows perched and cawedraucously. This avenue of palms presently debouched onto a littlemesa, oak-studded and covered with lush grass, which gave it a pretty,parklike effect. In the center of this mesa stood the hacienda of theRancho Palomar.

Like all adobe dwellings of its class, it was not now, nor had it everbeen, architecturally beautiful. It was low, with a plain hip-roofcovered with ancient red tiles, many of which were missing. When thehouse had first been built, it had been treated to a coat of excellentplaster over the adobe, and this plaster had never been renewed. Withthe attrition of time and the elements, it had worn away in spots,through which the brown adobe bricks showed, like the bones in adecaying corpse. The main building faced down the valley; from eachend out, an ell extended to form a patio in the rear, while aseven-foot adobe wall, topped with short tile, connected with the elland formed a parallelogram.

"The old ruin doesn't look very impressive from the front, Kay," herfather explained, as he helped her out of the car, "but that wall hidesan old-fashioned garden that will delight you. A porch runs all roundthe inside of the house, and every door opens on the patio. That longadobe barracks over yonder used to house the help. In the old days, asmall army of peons was maintained here. The small adobe house backthere in the trees houses the majordomo—that old rascal, Pablo."

"He is still here, dad?"

"Yes—and as belligerent as old billy-owl. He pretends to look afterthe stock. I ordered him off the ranch last week; but do you thinkhe'd go? Not much. He went inside his shack, sorted out a rifle, cameoutside, sat down, and fondled the weapon all day long. Ever sincethen he has carried it, mounted or afoot. So I haven't bothered him.He's a bad old Indian, and when I secure final title to the ranch, I'llhave the sheriff of the county come out and remove him."

"But how does he live, dear?"

"How does any Indian live? He killed a steer last week, jerked half ofit, and sold the other half for some beans and flour. It wasn't hissteer and it wasn't mine. It belonged to the Farrel estate, and, sincethere is nobody to lodge a complaint against him, I suppose he'll killanother steer when his rations run low. This way, daughter. Rightthrough the hole in the wall."

They passed through a big inset gate in the adobe wall, into the patio.At once the scent of lemon and orange blossoms, mingled with the moredelicate aroma of flowers, assailed them. Kay stood, entranced, gazingupon the hodgepodge of color; she had the feeling of having stepped outof one world into another.

Her father stood watching her.

"Wonderful old place, isn't it, Kay?" he suggested. "The garden hasbeen neglected, but I'm going to clean it out."

"Do not touch it," she commanded, almost sharply. "I want it the wayit is."

"You little tyrant!" he replied good-naturedly. "You run me ragged andmake me like it."

From a rocker on the porch at the eastern end of the patio Kay's motherrose and called to them, and the girl darted away to greet her. Mrs.Parker folded the girl to a somewhat ample bosom and kissed herlovingly on her ripe red lips; to her husband she presented a cheekthat showed to advantage the artistry of a member of that tribe ofgenii who strive so valiantly to hold in check the ravages of age. Atfifty, Kay's mother was still a handsome woman; her carriage, herdress, and a certain repressed vivacity indicated that she had masteredthe art of growing old gracefully.

"Well, kitten," she said, a trifle louder and shriller than one seemedto expect of her, "are you going to remain with us a little while, orwill next week see you scampering away again?"

"I'll stay all summer, fuss-budget. I'm going to paint the SanGregorio while it's on exhibition, and then this old house and thegarden. Oh, mother dear, I'm in love with it! It's wonderful!"

The potato baron had followed Parker and his daughter into the patio,and stood now, showing all of his teeth in an amiable smile. Parkersuddenly remembered his guest.

"My dear," he addressed his wife, "I have brought a guest with me.This is Mr. Okada, of whom I wrote you."

Okada bowed low—as low as the rules of Japanese etiquette prescribe,which is to say that he bent himself almost double. At the same time,he lifted his hat. Then he bowed again twice, and, with a pleasingsmile proffered his hand. Mrs. Parker took it and shook it with heartygood will.

"You are very welcome, Mr. Okada," she shrilled. "Murray," she added,turning to the butler, who was approaching with Okada's suitcase, "showthe gentleman to the room with the big bed in it. Dinner will be readyat six, Mr. Okada. Please do not bother to dress for dinner. We'requite informal here."

"Sank you very much," he replied, with an unpleasant whistling intakeof breath; with another profound bow to the ladies, he turned andfollowed Murray to his room.

"Well, John," Mrs. Parker demanded, as the Japanese disappeared, "yourlittle playmate's quite like a mechanical toy. For heaven's sake,where did you pal up with him?"

"That's the potato baron of the San Joaquin valley, Kate," he informedher. "I'm trying to interest him in a colonization scheme for hiscountrymen. A thousand Japs in the San Gregorio can raise enoughgarden-truck to feed the city of Los Angeles—and they will pay awhooping price for good land with water on it. So I brought him alongfor a preliminary survey of the deal."

"He's very polite, but I imagine he's not very brilliant company," hiswife averred frankly. "When you wired me you were bringing a guest, Idid hope you'd bring some jolly young jackanapes to arouse Kay and me."

She sighed and settled back in her comfortable rocking-chair, whileKay, guided by a maid, proceeded to her room. A recent job ofcalcimining had transformed the room from a dirty grayish, white to asoft shade of pink; the old-fashioned furniture had been "done over,"and glowed dully in the fading light. Kay threw open the smallsquare-hinged window, gazed through the iron bars sunk in the thickwalls, and she found herself looking down the valley, more beautifulthan ever now in the rapidly fading light.

"I'll have to wait outside for him," she thought. "It will be darkwhen he gets here."

She washed and changed into a dainty little dinner dress, after whichshe went on a tour of exploration of the hacienda. Her first port ofcall was the kitchen.

"Nishi," she informed the cook, "a gentleman will arrive shortly afterthe family has finished dinner. Keep his dinner in the oven. Murraywill serve it to him in his room, I think."

She passed out through the kitchen, and found herself in the rear ofthe hacienda. A hundred yards distant, she saw Pablo Artelan squattingon his heels beside the portal of his humble residence, his backagainst the wall. She crossed over to him, smiling as she came.

"How do you do, Pablo?" she said. "Have you forgotten me? I'm thegirl to whom you were kind enough to give a ride on Panchito one day inEl Toro."

The glowering glance of suspicion and resentment faded slowly from oldPablo's swarthy countenance. He scrambled to his feet and swept theground with his old straw sombrero,

"I am at the service of the señorita," he replied, gravely.

"Thank you, Pablo. I just wanted to tell you that you need not carrythat rifle any more. I shall see to it that you are not removed fromthe ranch."

He stared at her with stolid interest.

"Muchas gracias, señorita," he mumbled. Then, remembering she didnot understand Spanish, he resumed in English: "I am an old man, mees.Since my two boss he's die, pretty soon Pablo die, too. For what useeet is for live now I don' tell you. Those ol' man who speak me leavetheese rancho—he is your father, no?"

"Yes, Pablo. And he isn't such a terrible man, once you get acquaintedwith him."

"I don' like," Pablo muttered frankly. "He have eye likelookin'-glass. Mebbeso for you, mees, eet is different, but for PabloArtelan———" he shrugged. "Eef Don Mike is here, nobody can talk tome like dose ol' man, your father, he speak to me." And he wagged hishead sorrowfully.

Kay came close to him.

"Listen, Pablo: I have a secret for you. You, must not tell anybody.Don Mike is not dead."

He raised his old head with languid interest and nodded comprehension.

"My wife, Carolina, she tell me same thing all time. She say: 'Pablomio, somebody make beeg mistake. Don Mike come home pretty queeck,you see. Nobody can keel Don Mike. Nobody have that mean thedeesposition for keel the boy.' But I don' theenk Don Mike come backto El Palomar."

"Carolina is right, Pablo. Somebody did make a big mistake. He waswounded in the hand, but not killed. I saw him to-day, Pablo, on thetrain."

"You see Don Mike? You see heem with the eye?"

"Yes. And he spoke to me with the tongue. He will arrive here in anhour."

Pablo was on his knees before her, groping for her hand. Finding it,he carried it to his lips. Then, leaping to his feet with an alacritythat belied his years, he yelled:

"Carolina! Come queeck, Pronto! Aquí, Carolina."

"Si, Pablo mio."

Carolina appeared in the doorway and was literally deluged with astream of Spanish. She stood there, hands clasped on her tremendousbosom, staring unbelievingly at the bearer of these tidings of greatjoy, the while tears cascaded down her flat, homely face. With a snapof his fingers, Pablo dismissed her; then he darted into the house andemerged with his rifle. A co*ckerel, with the carelessness of youth,had selected for his roost the limb of an adjacent oak and was stillgazing about him instead of secreting his head under his wing, asco*ckerels should at sunset. Pablo neatly shot his head off, seized thefluttering carcass, and started plucking out the feathers with neatnessand despatch.

"Don Mike, he's like gallina con arroz espagñol," he explained."What you, call chick-een with rice Spanish," he interpreted. "Eetmus' not be that Don Mike come home and Carolina have not cook for heemthe grub he like. Carramba!"

"But he cannot possibly eat a chicken before—I mean, it's too soon.Don Mike will not eat that chicken before the animal-heat is out of it."

"You don' know Don Mike, mees. Wen dat boy he's hongry, he don' speakso many questions."

"But I've told our cook to save dinner for him."'

"Your cook! Señorita, I don' like make fun for you, but I guess youdon' know my wife Carolina, she have been cook for Don Miguel and DonMike since long time before he's beeg like little kitten. Don Mike, hedon' understand those gringo grub."

"Listen, Pablo: There is no time to cook Don Mike a Spanish dinner. Hemust eat gringo grub to-night. Tell me, Pablo: Which room did Don Mikesleep in when he was home?"

"The room in front the house—the beeg room with the beeg black bed.Carolina!" He threw the half-plucked chicken at the old cook, wipedhis hands on his overalls, and started for the hacienda. "I go formake the bed for Don Mike," he explained, and started running.

Kay followed breathlessly, but he reached the patio before her,scuttled along the porch with surprising speed, and darted into theroom. Immediately the girl heard his voice raised angrily.

"Hullo! What you been do in my boss's room? Madre de Dios! Youtheenk I let one Chinaman—no, one Jap—sleep in the bed of DonVictoriano Noriaga. No! Vamos!"

There was a slight scuffle, and the potato baron came hurtling throughthe door, propelled on the boot of the aged but exceedingly vigorousPablo. Evidently the Jap had been taken by surprise. He rolled offthe porch into a flower-bed, recovered himself, and flew at Pablo withthe ferocity of a bulldog. To the credit of his race, be it said thatit does not subscribe to the philosophy of turning the other cheek.

But Pablo was a peon. From somewhere on his person, he produced a dirkand slashed vigorously. Okada evaded the blow, and gave ground.

"Quidado!" Pablo roared, and charged; whereupon the potato baron,evidently impressed with the wisdom of the ancient adage thatdiscretion is the better part of valor, fled before him. Pablofollowed, opened the patio gate, and, with his long dirk, motioned theJap to disappear through it. "The hired man, he don' sleep in the bedof the gente," he declared. "The barn is too good for one Jap.Santa Maria! For why I don' keel you, I don' know."

"Pablo!"

The majordomo turned.

"Yes, mees lady."

"Mr. Okada is our guest. I command you to leave him alone. Mr. Okada,I apologize to you for Pablo's impetuosity. He is not a servant ofours, but a retainer of the former owner. Pablo, will you pleaseattend to your own business?" Kay was angry now, and Pablo realized it.

"Don Mike's beesiness, she is my beesiness, too, señorita," he growled.

"Yes; I zink so," Okada declared. "I zink I go 'nother room."

"Murray will prepare one for you, Mr. Okada. I'm so sorry this hashappened. Indeed I am!"

Pablo hooted.

"You sorry, mees? Wait until my Don Mike he's come home and find theesfellow in hees house."

He closed the gate, returned to the room, and made a criticalinspection of the apartment. Kay could see him wagging his grizzledhead approvingly as she came to the door and looked in.

"Where those fellow El Mono, he put my boss's clothes?" Pablodemanded.

"'El Mono?' Whom do you mean, Pablo?"

"El Mono—the monkey. He wear long tail to the coat; all the time helook like mebbeso somebody in the house she's goin' die pretty queeck."

"Oh, you mean Murray, the butler."

Pablo was too ludicrous, and Kay sat down on the edge of the porch andlaughed until she wept. Then, as Pablo still stood truculently in thedoorway, waiting an answer to his query, she called to Murray, who hadrushed to the aid of the potato baron, and asked him if he had foundany clothing in the room, and, if so, what he had done with it.

"I spotted and pressed them all, Miss Kay, and hung them in theclothes-press of the room next door."

"I go get," growled Pablo, and did so; whereupon the artful Murray tookadvantage of his absence to dart over to the royal chamber and removethe potato baron's effects.

"I don't like that blackamoor, Miss Kay," El Mono confided to thegirl. "I feel assured he is a desperate vagabond to whom murder andpillage are mere pastimes. Please order him out of the garden. Hepays no attention to me whatsoever."

"Leave him severely alone," Kay advised. "I will find a way to handlehim."

Pablo returned presently, with two suits of clothing, a softwhite-linen shirt, a black necktie, a pair of low-cut brown shoes, anda pair of brown socks. These articles he laid out on the bed. Then hemade another trip to the other room, and returned bearing an armful offramed portraits of the entire Noriaga and Farrel dynasty, which heproceeded to hang in a row on the wall at the foot of the bed. Lastly,he removed a rather fancy spread from the bed and substituted thereforan ancient silk crazy-quilt that had been made by Don Mike'sgrandmother. Things were now as they used to be, and Pablo wassatisfied.

When he came out, Kay had gone in to dinner; so he returned to his owncasa and squatted against the wall, with his glance fixed upon thepoint in the palm avenue where it dipped over the edge of the mesa.

VII

At seven o'clock, dinner being over, Kay excused herself to the familyand Mr. Okada, passed out through the patio gate, and sought a benchwhich she had noticed under a catalpa tree outside the wall. From thisseat, she, like Pablo, could observe anybody coming up the palm-linedavenue. A young moon was rising over the hills, and by its light Kayknew she could detect Don Mike while he was yet some distance from thehouse.

At seven-thirty, he had not appeared, and she grew impatient andstrolled round to the other side of the hacienda. Before Pablo'scasa, she saw the red end of a cigarette; so she knew that Pablo alsowatched.

"I must see him first," she decided. "Pablo's heart is right towardDon Mike, but resentful toward us. I do not want him to pass thatresentment on to his master."

She turned back round the hacienda again, crossed down over the lip ofthe mesa at right angles to the avenue, and picked her way through theoaks. When she was satisfied that Pablo could not see her, she madeher way back to the avenue, emerging at the point where it connectedwith the wagon-road down the valley. Just off the avenue, a live-oakhad fallen, and Kay sat down on the trunk of it to watch and wait.

Presently she saw him coming, and her heart fluttered in fear at themeeting. She, who had for months marked the brisk tread of militarymen, sensed now the drag, the slow cadence of his approach; whereforeshe realized that he knew! In the knowledge that she would not have tobreak the news to him, a sense of comfort stole over her.

As he came closer, she saw that he walked with his chin on his breast;when he reached the gate at the end of the avenue, he did not see itand bumped into it. "Dios mio!" she heard him mutter. "Dios!Dios! Dios!" The last word ended in tragic crescendo; he leaned onthe gate, and there, in the white silence, the last of the Farrelsstood gazing up the avenue as if he feared to enter.

Kay sat on the oak trunk, staring at him, fascinated by the tragictableau.

Suddenly, from the hacienda, a hound gave tongue—a long, bell-likebaying, with a timbre in it that never creeps into a hound's voiceuntil he has struck a warm scent. Another hound took up the cry—andstill another. Don Mike started.

"That's Nip!" Kay heard him murmur, as the first hound sounded. "Now,Mollie! Come now, Nailer! Where's Hunter? Hunter's dead! You'vescented me!"

Across the mesa, the pack came bellowing, scattering the wet leavesamong the oaks as they took the short cut to the returning master.Into the avenue they swept; the leader leaped for the top of the gate,poised there an instant, and fell over into Don Mike's arms. Theothers followed, overwhelming him. They licked his hands; they soiledhim with their reaching paws, the while their cries of welcometestified to their delight. Presently, one grew jealous of the otherin the mad scramble for his caressing hand, and Nip bit Mollie, whor*taliated by biting Nailer, who promptly bit Nip, thus completing thevicious circle. In an instant, they were battling each other.

"Stop it!" Don Mike commanded. "Break!"

They "broke" at his command, and, forgetting their animosities, beganrunning in circles, in a hopeless effort to express their happiness.Suddenly, as if by common impulse, they appeared to remember aneglected duty, and fled noisily whence they had come.

"Ah, only my dogs to welcome me!" Kay heard Don Mike murmur. And thenthe stubborn tears came and blinded him, so he did not see her whitefigure step out into the avenue and come swiftly toward him. The firsthe knew of her presence was when her hand touched his glistening blackhead bent on his arms over the top rail of the gate.

"No, no, Don Mike," he heard a sweet voice protesting; "somebody elsecares, too. We wouldn't be human if we didn't. Please—please try notto feel so badly about it."

He raised his haggard face.

"Ah, yes—you!" he cried. "You—you've been waiting here—for me?"

"Yes. I wanted to tell you—to explain before you got to the house.We didn't know, you see—and the notice was so terribly short; butwe'll go in the morning. I've saved dinner for you, Don Mike—and yourold room is ready for you. Oh, you don't know how sorry I am for you,you poor man!"

He hid his face again.

"Don't—please!" he cried, in a choked voice. "I can't standsympathy—to-night—from you!"

She laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, come; you must buck up, old soldier," she assured him. "You'llhave to meet Pablo and Carolina very soon."

"I'm so alone and desperate," he muttered, through clenched teeth."You can't—realize what this means—to me. My father was an oldman—he had—accomplished his years—and I weep for him, because Iloved—him. But oh, my home—this—dear land——"

He choked, and, in that moment, she forgot that this man was a strangerto her. She only knew that he had been stricken, that he was helpless,that he lacked the greatest boon of the desolate—a breast upon whichhe might weep. Gently she lifted the black head and drew it down onher shoulder; her arm went round his neck and patted his cheek, and hisfull heart was emptied.

There was so much of the little boy about him!

VIII

The fierce gust of emotion which swept Don Mike Farrel was of briefduration. He was too sane, too courageous to permit his grief tooverwhelm him completely; he had the usual masculine horror of anexhibition of weakness, and although the girl's sweet sympathy andgenuine womanly tenderness had caught him unawares, he was,nevertheless, not insensible of the incongruity of a grown man weepinglike a child on the shoulder of a young woman—and a strange youngwoman at that. With a supreme effort of will, he regained control ofhimself as swiftly as he had lost it, and began fumbling for ahandkerchief.

"Here," she murmured; "use mine." She reached up and, with her daintywisp of handkerchief, wiped his wet cheeks exactly as if he had been achild.

He caught the hand that wielded the handkerchief and kissed itgratefully, reverently.

"God bless your dear, kind heart!" he murmured. "I had thought nobodycould possibly care—that much. So few people—have any interest inthe—unhappiness of others." He essayed a twisted smile. "I'm notusually this weak," he continued, apologetically. "I never knew untilto-night that I could be such a lubberly big baby, but, then, I wasn'tset for this blow. This afternoon, life executed an about face forme—and the dogs got me started after I'd promised myself———" Hechoked again on the last word.

She patted his shoulder in comradely fashion.

"Buck up, Don Mike!" she pleaded. "Tears from such men as you aresigns of strength, not weakness. And remember—life has a habit ofobeying commanding men. It may execute another about face for you."

"I've lost everything that made life livable," he protested.

"Ah! No, no! You must not say that. Think of that cheerful warriorwho, in defeat, remarked, 'All is lost save honor.'" And she touchedthe pale-blue star-sprinkled ribbon on his left breast.

He smiled again, the twisted smile.

"That doesn't amount to a row of pins in civil life." Something ofthat sense of bitter disillusionment, of blasted idealism, which is theimmediate aftermath of war, had crept into his voice. "The only thrillI ever got out of its possession was in the service. My colonel wasnever content merely with returning my salute. He always uncovered tome. That ribbon will have little weight with your father, I fear, whenI ask him to set aside the foreclosure, grant me a new mortgage, andgive me a fighting chance to retain the thing I love." And hisoutflung arm indicated the silent, moonlit valley.

"Perhaps," she replied, soberly. "He is a businessman. Nevertheless,it might not be a bad idea if you were to defer the crossing of yourbridges until you come to them." She unlatched the gate and swung itopen for him to pass through.

He hesitated.

"I didn't intend to enter the house to-night," he explained. "I merelywanted to see Pablo and have a talk with him. My sudden appearance onthe scene might, perhaps, prove very embarrassing to your family."

"I dare say. But that cannot be helped. Your right of entrance andoccupancy cannot be questioned. Until the period of redemptionexpires, I think nobody will dispute your authority as master here."

"I had forgotten that phase of the situation. Thank you." He passedthrough the gate and closed it for her. Then he stepped to the side ofthe road, wet his handkerchief in a pool of clean rain-water, andmopped his eyes. "I'll have to abandon the luxury of tears," hedeclared, grimly. "They make one's eyes burn. By the way, I do notknow your name."

"I am Kay Parker."

"'Kay' for what?"

"Kathleen."

He nodded approvingly.

"You neglected to leave my dunnage at the mission; Miss Parker."

"After you told me who you were, I realized you would sleep at theranch to-night, so I kept your things in the car. They are in your oldroom now."

"Thank you for an additional act of kindness and thoughtfulness." Headjusted his overseas cap, snugged his blouse down over his hips,flipped from it the wet sand deposited there by the paws of thehound-pack, and said, "Let's go."

Where the avenue debouched into the ranch-yard, Pablo and Carolinaawaited them. The old majordomo was wrapped in aboriginal dignity.His Indian blood bade him greet Don Mike as casually as if the latterhad merely been sojourning in El Toro the past two years, but the faintstrain of Spanish in him dictated a different course as Don Mikestepped briskly up to him with outstretched hand and greeted himaffectionately in Spanish. Off came the weather-stained old sombrero,flung to the ground beside him, as Pablo dropped on his knees, seizedhis master's hand, and bowed his head over it.

"Don Miguel," he said, "my life is yours."

"I know it, you blessed old scalawag!" Don Mike replied in English, andruffled the grizzled old head before passing on to the expectantCarolina, who folded him tightly in her arms and wept soundlessly whenhe kissed her leathery cheek. While he was murmuring words of comfortto her, Pablo got up on his feet and recovered his hat.

"You see," he said to Kay, in a confidential tone, "Don Miguel JoséMaria Federico Noriaga Farrel loves us. Never no woman those boy keessince hees mother die twenty year before. So Carolina have the greathonor like me. Yes!"

"Oh, but you haven't seen him kiss his sweetheart," Kay bantered theold man—and then blushed, in the guilty knowledge that her badinagehad really been inspired by a sudden desire to learn whether Don Mikehad a sweetheart or not. Pablo promptly and profanely disillusionedher.

"Those boy, he don' have some sweethearts, mees lady. He's prettyparteecular." He paused a moment and looked her in the face meaningly."Those girls in thees country—pah! Hee's pretty parteecular, thoseboy."

His childish arrogance and consuming pride in his master stirred thegirl's sense of humor.

"I think your Don Mike is too particular," she whispered."Personally, I wouldn't marry him on a bet."

His slightly bloodshot eyes flickered with rage. "You never get achance," he assured her. "Those boy is of the gente. An' we don'call heem 'Don Mike' now. Before, yes; but now he is 'Don Miguel,'like hees father. Same, too, like hees gran'father."

Throughout this colloquy, Carolina had been busy exculpating herselffrom possible blame due to her failure to have prepared for theprodigal the sort of food she knew he preferred.

Farrel had quite a task pacifying her. At length he succeeded ingently dismissing both servants, and followed Kay toward the patio.

The girl entered first, and discovered that her family and their guestwere not on the veranda, whereat she turned and gave her hand to Farrel.

"The butler will bring you some dinner to your room. We breakfast ateight-thirty. Good-night."

"Thank you," he replied. "I shall be deeper in your debt if you willexplain to your father and mother my apparent lack of courtesy infailing to call upon them this evening."

He held her hand for a moment. Then he bowed, gracefully and withstudied courtesy, cap in hand, and waited until she had turned to leavehim before he, in turn, betook himself to his room.

IX

It was as he had left it. He smiled sadly as he noted his civilianclothes laid out on the bed. However, he would not wear them to-night.A little later, while he was hanging them in the clothes-press, apropitiatory cough sounded at the door. Turning, he beheld thestrangest sight ever seen on the Rancho Palomar—a butler, bearing atray covered with a napkin.

"Good-evening," quoth Don Miguel civilly. "Set it down on the littletable yonder, please. May I inquire why you bear the tray on your lefthand and carry a pistol in your right?"

"Your servant, the man Pablo, has threatened my life, sir, if I daredbear your dinner to you, sir. He met me a moment ago and demanded thatI surrender the tray to him, sir. Instead, I returned to the kitchen,possessed myself of this pistol, and defied him, sir."

"I apologize for Pablo, and will see to it that he does not disturb youagain—er———"

"Murray, sir."

"Thank you, Murray."

The butler was about to advance into the room and set the tray on thetable as directed, when an unexpected contretemps occurred. Aswarthy hand followed by a chambray-clad arm was thrust in the door,and the pistol snatched out of Murray's hand before the latter evenknew what was about to transpire. Pablo Artelan stepped into the room.

"Vamos! Go!" he ordered, curtly, and relieved the astonished butlerof the tray. Murray glanced at Don Miguel.

"Perhaps you'd better go," Don Miguel suggested, weakly. "Pablo is atrifle jealous of the job of waiting on me. We'll iron everything outin the morning. Good-night, Murray."

"Buenas noches, mono mio," Pablo grunted.

"I have a slight knowledge of the Spanish tongue, sir," Murrayprotested. "This blackamoor has insulted me, sir. Just now he said,in effect, 'Good-night, monkey mine.' Earlier in the evening, heattempted to murder Mr. Parker's guest, Mr. Okada."

"It's a pity he didn't succeed," Don Miguel replied, and drew a dollarfrom his pocket. "You are very kind, Murray, but hereafter I shall notrequire your attendance. Pablo, give Murray his pistol."

Pablo returned the weapon.

"She ees one of those leetle lady-pistols, Don Miguel. She can't killsomebody if she try," he declared, contemptuously. Murray pouched thedollar gratefully and beat a hurried retreat.

From under his denim jumper, Pablo brought forth a pint of claret.

"When the damned proheebeetion she's come, you father hee's sell fiftycow and buy plenty booze," he explained. He broke off into Spanish."This wine, we stored in the old bakery, and your father entrusted mewith the key. It is true. Although it is not lawful to permit one ofmy blood to have charge of wines and liquors, nevertheless, yoursainted father reposed great confidence in me. Since his death, I havenot touched one drop, although I was beset with temptation, seeing thatif we did not drink it, others would. But Carolina would have none ofit, and, as you know, your father, who is now, beyond doubt, anarchangel, was greatly opposed to any man who drank alone. How oftenhave I heard him declare that such fellows were not of the gente!And Carolina always refused to believe that you were dead. As aresult, the years will be many before that wine is finished."

"My good Pablo, your great faith deserves a great reward. It is mywish that, to-night, you and Carolina shall drink one pint each to myhealth. Have you given some of this wine to the Parkers?"

Pablo shook his head vigorously.

"That fellow, El Mono, was desirous of serving some to his master,and demanded of me the key, which I refused. Later, Señor Parker madethe same demand. Him I refused also. This made him angry, and heordered me to depart from El Palomar. Naturally, I told him to go tothe devil. Don Miguel, this gringo grub appears to be better than Ihad imagined."

Farrel had little appetite for food, but, to please Pablo, he drank thesoup and toyed with a piece of toast and a glass of wine while themajordomo related to him the events which had taken place at El Palomarsince that never-to-be-forgotten day when Tony Moreno had ridden inwith the telegram from Washington.

"Your beloved father—may the smile of Jesus warm him!—said nothingwhen he read this accursed message, Don Miguel. For three days, hetasted no food; throughout the days he sat beside me on the bench underthe catalpa tree, gazing down into the San Gregorio as if he watchedfor you to ride up the road. He shed no tears—at least, not in thepresence of his servants—but he was possessed of a great trembling.At the end of the third day, I rode to the mission and informed FatherDominic. Ah, Don Miguel, my heart was afflicted tenfold worse thanbefore to see that holy man weep for you. When he had wept a space, heordered Father Andreas to say a high mass for the repose of your soul,while he came up to the hacienda to remind your father of the comfortsof religion. Whereat, for the first time since that vagabond Morenocame with his evil tidings, your father smiled. 'Good Father Dominic,'said he, 'I have need of the comfort of your presence and yourfriendship, but I would not blot out with thoughts of religion thememory of the honor that has come upon my house. God has been good tome. To me has been given the privilege of siring a man, and I shallnot affront him with requests for further favors. To-morrow, in ElToro, a general will pin on my breast the medal for gallantry thatbelongs to my dead son. As for this trembling, it is but a palsy thatcomes to many men of my age.'"

"He had a slight touch of it before I left," Don Miguel reminded Pablo.

"The following day," Pablo continued, "I assisted him to dress, and wasoverjoyed to observe that the trembling had abated by half. By hisdirection, I saddled Panchito with the black carved-leather saddle, andhe mounted with my aid and rode to El Toro. I followed on the blackmare. At El Toro, in the plaza, in the presence of all the people, agreat general shook your father's hand and pinned upon his breast themedal that belongs to you. It was a proud moment for all of us. Thenwe rode back to the San Gregorio. At the mission, your fatherdismounted and went into the chapel to pray for your soul. For twohours, I waited before entering to seek him. I found him kneeling withhis great body spread out over the prie-dieu where the heads of yourhouse have prayed since the Mission de la Madre Dolorosa was built.His brain was alive, but one side of him was dead, and he smiled withhis eyes. We carried him home in Father Dominic's automobile, and, twoweeks later, he died in sanctity. The gente of San Marcos Countyattended his funeral.

"In February came Señor Parker, with great assurance, and endeavoredto take possession. He showed me a paper, but what do I know ofpapers? I showed him your rifle, and he departed, to return with DonNicolás Sandoval, the sheriff, who explained matters to me and warnedme to avoid violence. I have dwelt here since in sorrow andperplexity, and because I have ridden the fences and watched over thestock, there has been no great effort made to disturb me. They have acook—a Japanese, and two Japanese women servants. Also, this evening,Señor Parker brought with him as a guest another Japanese, whom hetreats with as much consideration as if the fellow were your saintedfather. I do not understand such people. This Japanese visitor wasgiven this room, but this honor I denied him."

"My father's business affairs are greatly tangled, Pablo. I shall havequite a task to place them in order," Don Miguel informed him, sadly.

"If it is permitted an old servant to appear curious, Don Miguel, howlong must we submit to the presence of these strangers?"

"For the present, Pablo, I am the master here; therefore, these peopleare my guests. It has never been the custom with my people to bediscourteous to guests."

"I shall try to remember that," Pablo replied, bitterly. "Forgive me,Don Miguel, for forgetting it. Perhaps I have not played well my partas the representative of my master during his absence."

"Do not distress yourself further in the matter, Pablo. What food havewe at the ranch? Is there sufficient with which to enable Carolina toserve breakfast?"

"To serve it where, Don Miguel?"

"Where but in my home?"

"Blood of the devil!" Pablo slapped his thigh and grinned in theknowledge that the last of the Farrels, having come home, had decidedto waste no time in assuming his natural position as the master of theRancho Palomar. "We have oranges," he began, enumerating each courseof the forthcoming meal on his tobacco-stained fingers. "Then there isflour in my possession for biscuits, and, two weeks ago, I robbed abee-tree; so we have honey. Our coffee is not of the best, but it iscoffee. And we have eggs."

"Any butter, sugar, and cream?"

"Alas, no, Don Miguel!"

"Saddle a horse at once, go down to the mission, and borrow some fromFather Dominic. If he has none, ride over to the Gonzales rancho andget it. Bacon, also, if they have it. Tell Carolina I will havebreakfast for five at half after eight."

"But this Japanese cook of Señor Parker's, Don Miguel?"

"I am not in a mood to be troubled by trifles tonight, Pablo."

"I understand, Don Miguel. The matter may safely be entrusted to me."He picked up the tray. "Sweet rest to you, sir, and may our Saviourgrant a quick healing to your bruised heart. Good-night."

"Good-night, Pablo." Farrel rose and laid his hand on the oldretainer's shoulder. "I never bothered to tell you this before, Pablo,but I want you to know that I do appreciate you and Carolinatremendously. You've stuck to me and mine, and you'll always have ahome with me."

"Child," Pablo queried, huskily, "must we leave the rancho?"

"I'm afraid we must, Pablo. I shall know more about our plans after Ihave talked with Señor Parker."

X

That night, Miguel Farrel did not sleep in the great bed of hisancestors. Instead, he lay beneath his grandmother's silk crazy-quiltand suffered. The shock incident to the discovery of the desperatestraits to which he had been reduced had, seemingly, deprived him of thepower to think coherently. Along toward daylight, however, what withsheer nervous exhaustion, he fell into a troubled doze from which he wasawakened at seven o'clock by the entrance of Pablo, with a pitcher of hotwater for his shaving.

"Carolina will serve breakfast, Don Miguel," he announced. "The Japanesecook tried to throw her out of the kitchen; so I have locked him up inthe room where of old I was wont to place vaqueros who desired to settletheir quarrels without interference."

"How about food, Pablo?"

"Unfortunately, Father Dominic had neither sugar nor cream. It appearssuch things are looked upon at the mission as luxuries, and the padreshave taken the vow of poverty. He could furnish nothing save half a ham,which is of Brother Flavio's curing, and very excellent. I have tastedit before. I was forced to ride to the Gonzales rancho for the cream andsugar this morning, and have but a few moments ago returned."

Having deposited the pitcher of hot water, Pablo retired and, for severalminutes, Miguel Farrel lay abed, gazing at the row of portraits ofNoriagas and Farrels. His heart was heavy enough still, but the firstbenumbing shock of his grief and desperation had passed, and his naturalcourage and common sense were rapidly coming to his aid. He told himselfthat, with the dawning of the new day, he would no longer afford theluxury of self-pity, of vain repining for the past. He had to be up anddoing, for a man's-sized task now confronted him. He had approximatelyseven months in which to rehabilitate an estate which his forebears hadbeen three generations in dissipating, and the Gaelic and Celtic blood inhim challenged defeat even in the very moment when, for all he knew tothe contrary, his worldly assets consisted of approximately sixtydollars, the bonus given him by the government when parting with hisservices.

"I'll not give up without a battle," he told his ancestors aloud."You've all contributed to my heavy load, but while the pack-straps holdand I can stand and see, I'll carry it. I'll fight this man Parker up tothe moment he hands the county recorder the commissioner's deed and theRancho Palomar has slipped out of my hands forever. But I'll fight fair.That splendid girl—ah, pooh! Why am I thinking of her?"

Disgusted with himself for having entertained, for a fleeting instant, aslight sentimental consideration for the daughter of his enemy—for assuch he now regarded this man who planned to colonize the San Gregoriowith Japanese farmers—he got out of bed and under the cold shower-bathhe had installed in the adjoining room years before. It, together withthe tub-bath formerly used by his father, was the only plumbing in thehacienda, and Farrel was just a little bit proud of it. He shaved,donned clean linen and an old dressing-gown, and from his closet broughtforth a pair of old tan riding-boots, still in an excellent state ofrepair. From his army-kit he produced a boot-brush and a can of tanpolish, and fell to work, finding in the accustomed task some slightsurcease from his troubles.

His boots polished to his satisfaction, he selected from the stock of oldcivilian clothing a respectable riding-suit of English whip-cord,inspected it carefully for spots, and, finding none, donned it. A cleanstarched chambray shirt, set off by a black-silk Windsor tie, completedhis attire, with the exception of a soft, wide, flat-brimmed gray-beaverhat, and stamped him as that which he had once been but was no longer—aCalifornia rancher of taste and means somewhat beyond the average.

It was twenty-five minutes past eight when he concluded his leisurelytoilet; so he stepped out of his room, passed round two sides of theporched patio, and entered the dining-room. The long dining-table, hewedby hand from fir logs by the first of the Noriagas, had its rough defectsof manufacture mercifully hidden by a snow-white cloth, and he noted withsatisfaction that places had been set for five persons. He hung his haton a wall-peg and waited with his glance on the door.

Promptly at eight-thirty, Carolina, smiling, happy, resplendent in aclean starched calico dress of variegated colors, stepped outside thedoor and rang vigorously a dinner-bell that had called three generationsof Noriagas and an equal number of generations of Farrels to their meals.As its musical notes echoed through the dewy patio, Murray, the butler,appeared from the kitchen. At sight of Farrel, he halted, puzzled, butrecognized in him almost instantly the soldier who had so mysteriouslyappeared at the house the night before. El Mono was red of face andobviously controlling with difficulty a cosmic cataclysm.

"Sir," he announced, respectfully, "that Indian of yours has announcedthat he will shoot me if I attempt to serve breakfast."

Farrel grinned wanly.

"In that event, Murray," he replied, "if I were you, I should not attemptto serve breakfast. You might be interested to know that I am now masterhere and that, for the present, my own servants will minister to theappetites of my guests. Thank you for your desire to serve, but, for thepresent, you will not be needed here. If you will kindly step into thekitchen, Carolina will later serve breakfast to you and the maids."

"I'm quite certain I've never heard of anything so extraordinary," Murraymurmured. "Mrs. Parker is not accustomed to being summoned to breakfastwith a bell."

"Indeed? I'm glad you mentioned that, Murray. Perhaps you would be goodenough to oblige me by announcing breakfast to Mr. and Mrs. Parker, MissParker, and their guest, Mr. Okada."

"Thank you, sir," Murray murmured, and departed on his errand.

The first to respond to the summons was Kay. She was resplendent in astunning wash-dress and, evidently, was not prepared for the sight ofFarrel standing with his back to the black adobe fireplace. She pausedabruptly and stared at him frankly. He bowed.

"Good-morning, Miss Parker. I trust that, despite the excitement of theearly part of the night, you have enjoyed a very good rest."

"Good-morning, Don Miguel. Yes; I managed rather well with my sleep, allthings considered."

"You mustn't call me 'Don Miguel,'" he reminded her, with a faint smile."I am only Don Miguel to the Indians and pelados and a few of myfather's old Spanish friends who are sticklers for etiquette. My fatherwas one of the last dons in San Marcos County, and the title fitted himbecause he belonged to the generation of dons. If you call me, 'DonMiguel,' I shall feel a little bit alien."

"Well, I agree with you, Mr. Farrel. You are too young and modern forsuch an antiquated title. I like 'Don Mike' better."

"There is no further need for that distinguishing appellation," hereminded her, "since my father's death."

She looked at him for several seconds and said:

"I'm glad to see you've gotten a firm grip on yourself so soon. Thatwill make it ever so much nicer for everybody concerned. Mother andfather are fearfully embarrassed."

"I shall endeavor to relieve them of their embarrassment the instant Imeet them."

"Here they come now," Kay warned, and glanced at him appealingly.

Her mother entered first, followed by the potato baron, with Parkerbringing up the rear. Mrs. Parker's handsome face was suffused withconfusion, and, from the hesitant manner in which she entered, Farrelrealized she was facing an ordeal.

"Mother, this is Mr. Miguel Farrel," Kay announced.

"You are welcome to my poor house, Mrs. Parker," Farrel informed her,gravely, as he crossed the room and bent over her hand for a moment,releasing it to grasp the reluctant hand of her husband. "A doublewelcome, sir," he said, addressing Kay's father, who mumbled something inreply and introduced him to the potato baron, who bowed ceremoniously.

"Won't you please be seated?" Farrel pleaded. He gently steered Kay'smother to the seat on his right, and tucked her chair in under her, whileParker performed a similar service for his daughter. With the assuranceof one whose right to do was unquestioned, Farrel took his seat at thehead of the table and reached for the little silver call-bell beside hisplate, while Parker took an unaccustomed seat opposite the potato baron.

"Considering the distressing circ*mstances under which I arrived," Farrelobserved, addressing himself to Mrs. Parker, and then, with a glance,including the rest of the company, "I find myself rather happy in thepossession of unexpected company. The situation is delightfullyunique—don't you think so, Mrs. Parker?"

"It isn't the least bit delightful, Mr. Farrel," the lady declaredfrankly and forcibly; "but it's dear of you to be so nice about it."

Mr. Parker's momentary embarrassment had passed, and with the feelingthat his silence was a trifle disconcerting, he rallied to meet MiguelFarrel's attempt at gaiety.

"Well, Mr. Farrel, we find ourselves in a unique position, as you say.Kay informs me, however, that you are conversant with the circ*mstancesthat have conspired to make us your guests."

"Pray do not mention it. Under the peculiar conditions existing, I quiterealize that you followed the only logical and sensible course."

Mrs. Parker heaved a small sigh of relief and gazed upon Farrel with newinterest. He returned her gaze with one faintly quizzical, whereat,emboldened, she demanded,

"Well, what do you think of us for a jolly little band of usurpers, Mr.Farrel?"

"Why, I think I'm going to like you all very much if you'll give me halfa chance."

"I'd give you almost anything rather than be kicked out of this house,"she replied, in her somewhat loud, high-pitched voice. "I love it, and Ithink it's almost sinful on your part to have bobbed up so unexpectedly."

"Mother!" Kay cried reproachfully.

"Tut, tut, Kay, dear! When an obnoxious heir is reported dead, he shouldhave the decency to stay dead, although, now that our particular nuisanceis here, alive and well, I suppose we ought to let bygones be bygones andbe nice to him—provided, of course, he continues to be nice to us. Areyou inclined to declare war, Mr. Farrel?"

"Not until every diplomatic course has been tried and found wanting," hereplied.

Carolina entered, bearing five portions of sliced oranges.

"O Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespassagainst us," Mrs. Parker cried. "Where is Murray?"

Farrel glanced down at his oranges and grinned.

"I'm afraid I excused Murray," he confessed.

Mrs. Parker burst into shrill laughter.

"John," she demanded of her husband, "what do you think of this youngman?"

"Pick up the marbles, Mr. Farrel," Parker replied, with poorly assumedgood humor. "You win."

"I think this is a jolly adventure," Kay struck in, quick to note theadvantage of her outspoken mother's course. "Here you have been morethan two months, mother, regarding yourself as the mistress of the RanchoPalomar, retinting rooms, putting in modern plumbing, and cluttering upthe place with a butler and maids, when—presto!—overnight a strangerwalks in and says kindly, 'Welcome to my poor house!' After which, heappropriates pa's place at the head of the table, rings in his own cookand waitress, forces his own food on us, and makes us like it. Youngman, I greatly fear we're going to grow fond of you."

"You had planned to spend the summer here, had you not, Mrs. Parker?"

"Yes. John Parker, have you any idea what's going to become of us?"

"We'll go to Santa Barbara and take rooms at a hotel there for thepresent," he informed her.

"I loathe hotels," she protested.

"I think I informed you, Mrs. Parker, that you are welcome to my poorhouse," Farrel reminded her. "I shall be happy to have you remain hereuntil I go away. After that, of course, you can continue to stay onwithout any invitation from me."

Parker spoke up.

"My dear Mr. Farrel, that is charming of you! Indeed, from all that wehave heard of you, it is exactly the course we might expect you to take.Nevertheless, we shall not accept of your kindness. Now that you arehere, I see no reason why I should impose the presence of my family andmyself upon your hospitality, even if the court has given me the right toenter upon this property. I am confident you are competent to manage theranch until I am eliminated or come into final possession."

"John, don't be a nut," his wife implored him. "We'll stay here. Yes,we shall, John. Mr. Farrel has asked us in good faith. You weren'ttrying to be polite just to put us at our ease, were you?" she demanded,turning to Farrel.

"Certainly not, Mrs. Parker. Of course, I shall do my level best toacquire the legal right to dispossess you before Mr. Parker acquires asimilar right to dispossess me, but, in the interim, I announce anarmistice. All those in favor of the motion will signify by saying'Aye.'"

"Aye!" cried Kay, and "Aye!" shrilled her mother.

"No!" roared her husband.

"Excess of sound has no weight with me, Mr. Parker," their hostannounced. "The 'Ayes' have it, and it is so ordered. I will now submita platform for the approval of the delegates. Having established myselfas host and won recognition as such, the following rules and regulationswill govern the convention."

"Hear! Hear!" cried Mrs. Parker, and tapped the table with her spoon.

"The rapid ringing of a bell will be the signal for meals."

"Approved!" cried Kay.

"Second the motion!" shrilled her mother.

"My cook, Carolina, is queen of the kitchen, and Spanish cuisine willprevail. When you weary of it, serve notice, and your Japanese cook willbe permitted to vary the monotony."

"Great!" Mrs. Parker almost yelled. "Right as a fox!"

"Murray shall serve meals, and———"

Pablo appeared in the door leading to the kitchen and spoke to Farrel inSpanish.

"Pardon, folks. Pablo has a telegram for me. Bring it here, Pablo."

The master of Palomar excused himself to his guests long enough to readthe telegram, and then continued the announcement of his platform.

"My old battery commander, to whom I had promised Panchito, wires methat, for his sins, he has been made a major and ordered to the Army ofOccupation on the Rhine. Therefore, he cannot use Panchito, and forbidsme to express the horse to him. Consequently, Miss Parker, Panchito isalmost yours. Consider him your property while you remain my guest."

"You darling Don Miguel Farrel!"

"Exuberant, my dear," her curious mother remarked, dryly, "but, on thewhole, the point is well taken." She turned to Farrel. "How about somesort of nag for mother?"

"You may ride my father's horse, if that animal is still on the ranch,Mrs. Parker. He's a beautiful single-footer." He addressed Parker. "Weused to have a big gray gelding that you'd enjoy riding, sir. I'll lookhim up for you after breakfast."

"Thank you, Mr. Farrel," Parker replied, flushing slightly, "I've beenriding him already."

"Fine! He needed exercising. I have a brown mare for Mr. Okada, and youare all invited out to the corral after luncheon to see me bustPanchito's wild young brother for my own use."

"Oh, splendid!" Kay cried, enthusiastically.

"The day starts more auspiciously than I had hoped," her mother declared."I really believe the Rancho Palomar is going to develop into a regularplace with you around, Mr. Farrel."

XI

"I am convinced," said Miguel Farrel, as he followed his guests out ofthe dining-room onto the veranda, "that the Parkers' invasion of myhome is something in the nature of a mixed misfortune. I begin to feelthat my cloud has a silver lining."

"Of all the young men I have ever met, you can say the nicest things,"Mrs. Parker declared. "I don't think you mean that last remark theleast bit, but still I'm silly enough to like to hear you say it. Dosit down here awhile, Mr. Farrel, and tell us all about yourself andfamily."

"At the risk of appearing discourteous, Mrs. Parker, I shall have toask you to excuse me this morning. I have a living to make. It is nowa quarter past nine, and I should have been on the job at seven."

"But you only got home from the army last night," Kay pleaded. "Youowe yourself a little rest, do you not?"

"Not a minute. I must not owe anything I cannot afford. I haveapproximately seven months in which to raise approximately a quarter ofa million dollars. Since I am without assets, I have no credit;consequently, I must work for that money. From to-day I am LittleMike, the Hustler."

"What's your program, Mr. Farrel?" Parker inquired, with interest.

"I should be grateful for an interview with you, sir, if you can sparethe time. Later, I shall ride out over the ranch and make an inventoryof the stock. Tomorrow, I shall go in to El Toro, see my father'sattorney, ascertain if father left a will, and, if so, whom he named asexecutor. If he died intestate, I shall petition for letters ofadministration."

"Come, Kay, dear," Mrs. Parker announced; "heavy business-man stuff! Ican't bear it! Will you take a walk with us, Mr. Okada?"

"Very much pleased," the potato baron replied, and flashed his fineteeth in a fatuous grin.

Farrel smiled his thanks as the good lady moved off with her convoy.Parker indicated a chair and proffered a cigar.

"Now then, Mr. Farrel, I am quite at your service."

Miguel Farrel lighted his cigar and thoughtfully tossed the burnt matchinto a bed of pansies. Evidently, he was formulating his queries.

"What was the exact sum for which the mortgage on this ranch wasforeclosed, Mr. Parker?"

"Two hundred and eighty-three thousand, nine hundred and forty-onedollars, and eight cents, Mr. Farrel."

"A sizable wad. Mortgage covered the entire ranch?"

Parker nodded.

"When you secured control of the First National Bank of El Toro, youfound that old mortgage carried in its list of assets. You alsodiscovered that it had been renewed several times, each time for alarger sum, from which you deduced that the prospects for the ultimatepayment of the mortgage were nebulous and distant. Your hypothesis wascorrect. The Farrels never did to-day a task that could be deferreduntil to-morrow. Well, you went out and looked over the security forthat mortgage. You found it to be ample—about three to one, as a veryconservative appraisal. You discovered that all of the stockholders inthe First National were old friends of my father and extremelyreluctant to foreclose on him. As a newcomer; you preferred not toantagonize your associates by forcing the issue upon them, so youwaited until the annual election of stockholders, when you elected yourown Board of Directors. Then this Board of Directors sold you themortgage, and you promptly foreclosed it. The shock of this unexpectedmove was a severe one on my father; the erroneous report of my deathkilled him, and here you are, where you have every legal right in theworld to be. We were never entitled to pity, never entitled to thehalf-century of courtesy and consideration we received from the bank.We met the fate that is bound to overtake impractical dreamers andnon-hustlers in this generation. The Mission Indian disappeared beforethe onslaught of the earlier Californians, and the old-timeCalifornians have had to take a back seat before the onslaught of theGo-get-'em boys from the Middle West and the East. Presently they,too, will disappear before the hordes of Japanese that are invading ourstate. Perhaps that is progress—the survival of the fittest. Quiénsabe?"

He paused and smoked contemplatively. Parker cast a sidelong glance ofcuriosity at him, but said nothing, by his silence giving assent to allthat the younger man had said.

"I suppose you wanted the Rancho Palomar," Miguel Farrel suggested,presently. "I dare say your purchase of this mortgage was not the mereoutgrowth of an altruistic desire to relieve the First National Bank ofEl Toro of an annoyance and a burden."

"I think I admire your direct way of speaking, even if I hardly relish*t," Parker answered, good-humoredly. "Yes; I wanted the ranch. Irealized I could do things with it that nobody else in this countycould do or would even think of doing."

"Perhaps you are right. For the sake of argument, I will admit thatyou are right. Now then, to business. This ranch is worth a milliondollars, and at the close of the exemption period your claim against itwill probably amount to approximately three hundred thousand dollars,principal and interest. If I can induce somebody to loan me threehundred thousand dollars wherewith to redeem this property, I can getthe ranch back."

"Naturally."

"Not much use getting it back, however, unless I can raise anotherhundred thousand to restock it with pure-bred or good-grade Herefordsand purchase modern equipment to operate it." Parker noddedapprovingly. "Otherwise," Farrel continued, "the interest would eat mealive, and in a few years I'd be back where I started."

"Do you think you can borrow four hundred thousand dollars in SanMarcos County, Mr. Farrel?"

"No, sir. No private loan of that magnitude can be floated in thiscountry. You control the only bank in the county that can evenconsider it—and you'll not consider it."

"Hardly."

"Added to which handicap, I have no additional security to offer in theshape of previous reputation for ability and industry. I am the lastof a long line of indolent, care-free spendthrifts."

"Yes; that is unfortunately true," Parker assented, gravely.

"Oh, not so unfortunate as it is embarrassing and inconvenient. Wehave always enjoyed life to the fullest, and, for that, only a foolwould have regret. Would you be willing to file a satisfaction of thatold mortgage and give me a new loan for five years for the amount nowdue on the property? I could induce one of the big packing companiesto stake me to the cattle. All I would have to provide would be therange, and satisfy them that I am honest and know my business. And Ican do that. Such an arrangement would give me time to negotiate asale of part of the ranch and pay up your mortgage."

"I am afraid that my present plans preclude consideration of thatsuggestion," the banker replied, kindly, but none the less forcibly.

"I didn't think you would, but I thought I'd ask. As a general rule,it pays to try anything once when a fellow is in as desperate case as Iam. My only hope, then, is that I may be able to sell the Farrelequity in the ranch prior to the twenty-second day of November."

"That would seem to be your best course, Mr. Farrel."

"When does the redemption period expire?"

Parker squirmed slightly.

"That is a difficult question to answer, Mr. Farrel. It seems yourfather was something of a lawyer———"

"Yes; he graduated in law. Why, nobody ever knew, for he never had theslightest intention of practising it. I believe it must have beenbecause my grandfather, Michael Joseph I, had an idea that, since hisson was a gentleman, he ought to have a college degree and the right tofollow some genteel profession in case of disaster."

"Your father evidently kept abreast of the law," Parker laughed."Before entering suit for foreclosure, I notified him by registeredmail that the mortgage would not be renewed and made formal demand uponhim for payment in full. When he received the notice from the El Toropostmaster to call for that registered letter, he must have suspectedits contents, for he immediately deeded the ranch to you and thencalled for the registered letter."

Farrel began to chuckle.

"Good old dad!" he cried. "Put over a dirty Irish trick on you to gaintime!"

"He did. I do not blame him for it. I would have done the same thingmyself under the same circ*mstances." And Parker had the grace to joinin the laugh. "When I filed suit for foreclosure," he continued, "heappeared in court and testified that the property belonged to his son,who was in the military service, in consequence of which the suit forforeclosure could not be pressed until after said son's discharge fromthe service."

"All praise to the power of the war-time moratoriums," Farrel declared."I suppose you re-entered the suit as soon as the report of my deathreached you."

Parker chuckled.

"I did, Mr. Farrel, and secured a judgment. Then I took possession."

"Aren't you the picture of bad luck? Just when everything is shapingup beautifully for you, I appear in the flesh as exhibit A in thecontention that your second judgment will now have to be set aside,because, at the time it was entered, it conflicted with the provisionsof that blessed moratorium." Don Miguel smiled mirthlessly.

"There's luck in odd numbers," Parker retorted, dryly. "The next timeI shall make that judgment stick."

"Well, at any rate, all these false starts help me out wonderfully,"Don Miguel reminded him. "As matters stand this morning, the mortgagehasn't been foreclosed at all; consequently, you are really and trulymy guests and doubly welcome to my poor house." He rose and stretchedhimself, gazing down the while at Parker, who regarded him quizzically."Thank you for the interview, Mr. Parker. I imagine we've had ourfirst and last business discussion. When you are ready to enter yourthird suit for foreclosure, I'll drop round to your attorney's office,accept service of the summons, appear in court, and confess judgment."Fell a silence. Then, "Do you enjoy the study of people, sir?" DonMiguel demanded, apropos of nothing.

"Not particularly, Mr. Farrel. Of course, I try to know the man I'mdoing business with, and I study him accordingly, but that is all."

"I have not made myself explicit," his host replied. "The racialimpulses which I observed cropping out in my father—first Irish, thenSpanish—and a similar observance of the raised impulses of the peonsof this country, all of whom are Indian, with a faint admixture ofSpanish blood—always interested me. I agree with Pope that 'theproper study of mankind is man.' I find it most interesting."

"For instance?" Parker queried. He had a feeling that in anyconversation other than business which he might indulge in with thisyoung man he would speedily find himself, as it were, in deep waterclose to the shore.

"I was thinking of my father. In looking through his effects lastnight, I came across indubitable evidence of his Celtic blood.Following the futile pursuit of an enemy for a quarter of a century, hedied and left the unfinished job to me. Had he been all Spanish, hewould have wearied of the pursuit a decade ago."

"I think every race has some definite characteristics necessary to theunity of that race," Parker replied, with interest. "Hate makes theIrish cohesive; pride or arrogance prevents the sun from setting onBritish territory; a passionate devotion to the soil has solidified theFrench republic in all its wars, while a blind submission to anoverlord made Germany invincible in peace and terrible in war."

"I wonder what spiritual binder holds the people of the United Statestogether, Mr. Parker?" Don Miguel queried naively.

"Love of country, devotion to the ideals of liberty and democracy,"Parker replied promptly, just as his daughter joined them.

Farrel rose and surrendered to her his chair, then seated himself onthe edge of the porch with his legs dangling over into a flower-bed.His face was grave, but in his black eyes there lurked the glint ofpolite contempt.

"Did you hear the question and the answer, Miss Parker?" he queried.

She nodded brightly.

"Do you agree with your father's premise?" he pursued.

"Yes, I do, Don Mike."

"I do not. The mucilage in our body politic is the press-agent, theadvertising specialist, and astute propagandist. I wonder if you knowthat, when we declared war against Germany, the reason was not to makethe world safe for democracy, for there are only two real reasons whywars are fought. One is greed and the other self-protection. ThankGod, we have never been greedy or jealous of the prosperity of aneighbor. National aggrandizement is not one of our ambitions."

Kay stared at him in frank amazement.

"Then you mean that we entered the late war purely as a protectivemeasure?"

"That's why I enlisted. As an American citizen, I was unutterablyweary of having our hand crowded and our elbow joggled. I saw veryclearly that, unless we interfered, Germany was going to dominate theworld, which would make it very uncomfortable and expensive for us. Irepeat that for the protection of our comfort and our bank-roll wedeclared war, and anybody who tells you otherwise isn't doing his ownthinking, he isn't honest with himself, and he's the sort of citizenwho is letting the country go to the dogs because he refuses to take anintelligent interest in its affairs."

"What a perfectly amazing speech from an ex-soldier!" Kay protested.

He smiled his sad, prescient smile.

"Soldiers deal with events, not theories. They learn to call a spade aspade, Miss Parker. I repeat: It wasn't a war to make the world safefor democracy. That phrase was just a slogan in a businesscampaign—the selling of stock in a military enterprise to apatheticAmericans. We had to fight or be overrun; when we realized that, wefought. Are not the present antics of the Supreme Council in Parissufficient proof that saving democracy was just another shibboleth? Isnot a ghastly war to be followed by a ghastly peace? The press-agentsand orators popularized the war with the unthinking and the hesitant,which is proof enough to me that we lack national unity and a definitenational policy. We're a lot of sublimated jackasses, sacrificing ourcountry to ideals that are worn at elbow and down at heel. 'Othertimes, other customs.' But we go calmly and stupidly onward, huggingour foolish shibboleths to our hearts, hiding behind them, refusing todo to-day that which we can put off until to-morrow. That is truly anAnglo-Saxon trait. In matters of secondary importance, we yield aready acquiescence which emboldens our enemies to insist uponacquiescence in matters of primary importance. And quite frequentlythey succeed. I tell you the Anglo-Saxon peoples are the only onesunder heaven that possess a national conscience, and because theypossess it, they are generous enough to assume that other races aresimilarly endowed."

"I believe," Parker stuck in, as Don Miguel ceased from his passionatedenunciation, "that all this is leading quite naturally to a discussionof Japanese emigration."

"I admit that the sight of Mr. Okada over in the corner of the patio,examining with interest the only sweet-lime tree in North America,inspired my outburst," Farrel answered smilingly.

"You speak of our national shibboleths, Don Mike Farrel," Kay remindedhim. "If you please, what might they be?"

"You will recognize them instantly, Miss Parker. Let us start with ourDeclaration of Independence: 'All men are created equal.' Ah, if theframers of that great document had only written, 'All men are createdtheoretically equal!' For all men are not morally, intellectually, orcommercially equal: For instance, Pablo is equal with me before thelaw, although I hazard the guess that if he and I should commit amurder, Pablo would be hanged and I would be sentenced to lifeimprisonment; eventually, I might be pardoned or paroled. Are youwilling to admit that Pablo Artelan is not my equal?" he challengedsuddenly.

"Certainly!" Kay and her father both cried in unison.

"Very well. Is Mr. Okada my equal?"

"He is Pablo's superior," Parker felt impelled to declare.

"He is not your equal," Kay declared firmly. "Dad, you're begging thequestion."

"We-ll, no," he assented, "Not from the Anglo-Saxon point of view. Heis, however, from the point of view of his own nationals."

"Two parallel lines continued into infinity will never meet, Mr.Parker. I am a believer in Asia for Asiatics, and, in Japan, I amwilling to accord a Jap equality with me. In my own country, however,I would deny him citizenship, by any right whatsoever, even by birth, Iwould deny him the right to lease or own land for agricultural or otherpurposes, although I would accord him office and warehouse space tocarry on legitimate commerce. The Jap does that for us and no more,despite his assertions to the contrary. I would deny the right ofemigration to this country of all Japanese, with certain exceptionsnecessary to friendly intercourse between the two countries; I woulddeny him the privilege of economic competition and marriage with ourwomen. When a member of the great Nordic race fuses with a member of apigmented race, both parties to the union violate a natural law. Pablois a splendid example of mongrelization."

"You are forgetting the shibboleths," Kay ventured to remind him.

"No; I am merely explaining their detrimental effect upon ourdevelopment. The Japanese are an exceedingly clever and resourcefulrace. Brilliant psychologists and astute diplomatists, they have takenadvantage of our pet shibboleth, to the effect that all men are equal.Unfortunately, we propounded this monstrous and half-baked ideal to theworld, and a sense of national vanity discourages us from repudiatingit, although we really ought to. And as I remarked before, we possessan alert national conscience in international affairs, while the Jappossesses none except in certain instances where it is obvious thathonesty is the best policy. I think I am justified, however, instating that, upon the whole, Japan has no national conscience ininternational affairs. Her brutal exploitation of China and hermerciless and bloody conquest of Korea impel that point of view from anAnglo-Saxon. When, therefore, the Tokyo government says, in effect, tous: 'For one hundred and forty-four years you have proclaimed to theworld that all men are equal. Very well. Accept us. We are aworld-power. We are on a basis of equality with you,' and we lack thecourage to repudiate this pernicious principle, we have tacitlyadmitted their equality. That is, the country in general has, becauseit knows nothing of the Japanese race—at least not enough formoderately practical understanding of the biological and economicissues involved. Indeed, for a long time, we Californians dwelt in thesame fool's paradise as the remainder of the states. Finally, membersof the Japanese race became so numerous and aggressive here that wecouldn't help noticing them. Then we began to study them, and now,what we have learned amazes and frightens us, and we want the sisterstates to know all that we have learned, in order that they maycooperate with us. But, still, the Jap has us tiron in other ways."

"Has us what?" Parker interrupted.

"Tiron. Spanish slang. I mean he has us where the hair is short;we're hobbled."

"How?" Kay demanded.

His bright smile was triumphant.

"By shibboleths, of course. My friends, we're a race of sentimentalidiots, and the Japanese know this and capitalize it. We havepromulgated other fool shibboleths which we are too proud or too stupidto repudiate. 'America, the refuge for all the oppressed of theearth!' Ever hear that perfectly damnable shibboleth shouted by aFourth of July orator? 'America, the hope of the world!' What kind ofhope? Hope of freedom, social and political equality, equality ofopportunity? Nonsense! Hope of more money, shorter hours, and licensemisnamed liberty; and when that hope has been fulfilled, back they goto the countries that denied them all that we give. How many of themfeel, when they land at Ellis Island, that the ground whereon theytread is holy, sanctified by the blood and tears of a handful of great,brave souls who really had an ideal and died for it. Mighty few of thecattle realize what that hope is, even in the second generation."

"I fear," quoth Parker, "that your army experience has embittered you."

"On the contrary, it has broadened and developed me. It has been aliberal education, and it has strengthened my love for my country."

"Continue with the shibboleths, Don Mike," Kay pleaded. Her big, browneyes were alert with interest now.

"Well, when Israel Zangwill coined that phrase: 'The Melting-Pot,' thetitle to his play caught the popular fancy of a shibboleth-crazynation, and provided pap for the fanciful, for the theorists, for theflabby idealists and doctrinaires. If I melt lead and iron and copperand silver and gold in the same pot, I get a bastard metal, do I not?It is not, as a fused product, worth a tinker's hoot. Why, evenZangwill is not an advocate of the melting-pot. He is a Jew, proud ofit, and extremely solicitous for the welfare of the Jewish race. He isa Zionist—a leader of the movement to crowd the Arabs out of Palestineand repopulate that country with Jews. He feels that the Jews have anancient and indisputable right to Palestine, although, parentheticallyspeaking, I do not believe that any smart Jew who ever escaped fromPalestine wants to go back. I wouldn't swap the Rancho Palomar for thewhole country."

Kay and her father laughed at his earnest yet whimsical tirade. DonMiguel continued:

"Then we have that asinine chatter about 'America, the land of fairplay.' In theory—yes. In actual practice—not always. You didn'taccumulate your present assets, Mr. Parker, without taking anoccasional chance on side-tracking equity when you thought you couldbeat the case. But the Jap reminds us of our reputation for fair play,and smilingly asks us if we are going to prejudice that reputation bydiscriminating unjustly against him?"

"It appears," the girl suggested, "that all these ancient nationalbrags come home, like curses, to roost."

"Indeed they do, Miss Parker! But to get on with our shibboleths. Wehear a great deal of twaddle about the law of the survival of thefittest. I'm willing to abide by such a natural law, provided thecompetition is confined to mine own people—and I'm one of those chaps,who, to date, has failed to survive. But I cannot see any common sensein opening the lists to Orientals. We Californians know we cannot winin competition with them." He paused and glanced at Kay. "Does allthis harangue bore you, Miss Parker?"

"Not at all. Are there any more shibboleths?"

"I haven't begun to enumerate them. Take, for instance, that oldpacifist gag, that Utopian dream that is crystallized in the words:'The road to universal peace.' All the long years when we were notbothered by wars or rumors of wars, other nations were whittling eachother to pieces. And these agonized neighbors, longing, with a greatlonging, for world-peace, looked to the United States as the onlylogical country in which a great cure-all for wars might reasonably beexpected to germinate. So their propagandists came to our shores andstarted societies looking toward the establishment of brotherly love,and thus was born the shibboleth of universal peace, with Uncle Samheading the parade like an old bell-mare in a pack train. What thesepeace-patriots want is peace at any price, although they do notadvertise the fact. We proclaim to the world that we are a Christiannation. Ergo, we must avoid trouble. The avoidance of trouble isthe policy of procrastinators, the vacillating, and the weak. For onecannot avoid real trouble. It simply will not be avoided;consequently, it might as well be met and settled for all time."

"But surely," Parker remarked, "California should subordinate herselfto the wishes of the majority."

"Yes, she should," he admitted doggedly, "and she has in the past. Ithink that was before California herself really knew that Orientalemigration was not solely a California problem but a national problemof the utmost importance. Indeed, it is international. Of course, inview of the fact that we Californians are already on the firing-line,necessarily it follows that we must make some noise and, incidentally,glean some real first-hand knowledge of this so-called problem. Ithink that when our fellow citizens know what we are fighting, theywill sympathize with us and promptly dedicate the United States to theunfaltering principle that ours is a white man's country, that theheritage we have won from the wilderness shall be held inviolate forNordic posterity and none other."

"Nevertheless, despite your prejudice against the race, you are boundto admire the Japanese—their manners, thrift, industry, andcleanliness." Parker was employing one of the old stock protests, andDon Miguel knew it.

"I do not admire their manners, but I do admire their thrift, industry,and cleanliness. Their manners are abominable. Their excessivecourtesy is neither instinctive nor genuine; it is camouflage for aruthless, greedy, selfish, calculating nature. I have met manyJapanese, but never one with nobility or generosity of soul. They aredisciples of the principles of expediency. If a mutual agreement worksout to their satisfaction, well and good. If it does not, they presenta humble and saddened mien. 'So sorry. I zink you no understand me.I don't mean zat.' And their peculiar Oriental psychology leads themto believe they can get away with that sort of thing with thestraight-thinking Anglo-Saxon. They have no code of sportsmanship;they are irritable and quarrelsome, and their contractual relations areincompatible with those of the Anglo-Saxon. They are not truthful.Individually and collectively, they are past masters of evasion anddeceit, and therefore they are the greatest diplomatists in the world,I verily believe. They are wonderfully shrewd, and they have senseenough to keep their heads when other men are losing theirs. They arepatient; they plan craftily and execute carefully and ruthlessly.Would you care to graft their idea of industry on the white race, Mr.Parker?"

"I would," Parker declared, firmly. "It is getting to be the fashionnowadays for white men to do as little work as possible, and half dothat."

"I would not care to see my wife or my mother or my sister laboringtwelve to sixteen hours a day as Japanese force their women to labor.I would not care to contemplate the future mothers of our race drawnfrom the ranks of twisted, stunted, broken-down, and prematurely agedwomen. Did you ever see a bent Japanese girl of twenty waddling infrom a day of labor in a field? To emulate Japanese industry, with itspeonage, its horrible, unsanitary factory conditions, its hopelessness,would be to thrust woman's hard-won sphere in modern civilization backto where it stood at the dawn of the Christian era. Do you know, MissParker, that love never enters into consideration when a Japanesecontemplates marriage? His sole purpose in acquiring a mate is tobeget children, to scatter the seed of Yamato over the world, for thatis a religious duty. A Jap never kisses his wife or shows her anyevidences of affection. She is a chattel, and if anybody should, bychance, discover him kissing his wife, he would be frightfullymortified."

"What of their religious views, Don Mike?"

"If Japan can be said to have an official religion, it is Shintoism,not Buddhism, as so many Occidental people believe. Shintoism isancestor-worship, and ascribes divinity to the emperor. They believehe is a direct descendant of the sun-god, Yamato."

"Why, they're a heathen nation!" Kay's tones were indicative ofamazement.

Farrel smiled his tolerant smile.

"I believe, Miss Parker, that any people who will get down on all foursto worship the picture of their emperor and, at this period of theworld's progress, ascribe to a mere human being the attributes ofdivinity, are certainly deficient in common sense, if not incivilization. However, for the purpose of insuring the realization ofthe Japanese national aspirations, Shintoism is a need vital to therace. Without it, they could never agree among themselves for they arenaturally quarrelsome, suspicious and irritable. However, bysubordinating everything to the state via this religious channel, therehas been developed a national unity that has never existed with anyother race. The power of cohesion of this people is marvelous, andwill enable it, in days to come, to accomplish much for the race. Forthat reason alone, our very lack of cohesion renders the aspirations ofJapan comparatively easy of fulfilment unless we wake up and attend tobusiness."

"How do you know all this, Mr. Farrel?" Parker demanded incredulously.

"I have read translations from editorials in Japanese newspapers bothin Japan and California; I have read translations of the speeches ofeminent Japanese statesmen; I have read translations from Japaneseofficial or semi-official magazines, and I have read translations frompatriotic Japanese novels. I know what I am talking about. TheJapanese race holds firmly to the belief that it is the greatest raceon the face of the globe, that its religion, Shintoism, is the one truefaith, that it behooves it to carry this faith to the benighted ofother lands and, if said benighted do not readily accept Shintoism, toforce its blessings upon them willy-nilly. They believe that they knowwhat is good for the world; they believe that the resources of theworld were put here to be exploited by the people of the world,regardless of color, creed, or geographical limitation. They feel thatthey have as much right in North America as we have, and they purposeover-running us and making our country Japanese territory. And it wasyour purpose to aid in the consummation of this monstrous ambition," hecharged bluntly.

"At least," Parker defended, "they are a more wholesome people thansouthern Europeans. And they are not Mongolians."

Farrel's eyebrows arched.

"You have been reading Japanese propaganda," he replied. "Of coursethey are Mongolians. Everybody who has reached the age of reason knowsthat. One does not have to be a biologist to know that they areMongolians. Indeed, the only people who deny it are the Japanese, andthey do not believe it. As for southern Europeans, have you notobserved that nearly all of them possess brachycephalic skulls,indicating the influence upon them of Mongolian invasions thousands ofyears ago and supplying, perhaps, a very substantial argument that, ifwe find the faintly Mongoloid type of emigrant repugnant to us, we cannever expect to assimilate the pure-bred Mongol."

"What do you mean, 'brachycephalic'?" Parker queried, uneasily.

"They belong to the race of round heads. Didn't you know thatethnologists grub round in ancient cemeteries and tombs and trace theevolution and wanderings of tribes of men by the skulls they findthere?"

"I did not."

Kay commenced to giggle at her father's confusion. The latter hadsuddenly, as she realized, made the surprising discovery that in thiscalm son of the San Gregorio he had stumbled upon a student, to attemptto break a conversational lance with whom must end in disaster. Hisdaughter's mirth brought him to a realization of the sorry figure hewould present in argument.

"Well, my dear, what are you laughing at?" he demanded, a trifleausterely.

"I'm laughing at you. You told me yesterday you were loaded for theseCalifornians and could flatten their anti-Japanese arguments in ajiffy."

"Perhaps I am loaded still. Remember, Kay, Mr. Farrel has done all ofthe talking and we have been attentive listeners. Wait until I havehad my innings."

"By the way, Mr. Parker," Farrel asked, "who loaded you up withpro-Japanese arguments?"

Parker flushed and was plainly ill at ease. Farrel turned to Kay.

"I do not know yet where you folks came from, but I'll make a bet thatI can guess—in one guess."

"What will you bet, my erudite friend?" the girl bantered.

"I'll bet you Panchito against a box of fifty of the kind of cigarsyour father smokes."

"Taken. Where do we hail from, Don Mike?"

"From New York city."

"Dad, send Mr. Farrel a box of cigars."

"Now, I'll make you another bet. I'll stake Panchito against anotherbox of the same cigars that your father is a member of the JapanSociety, of New York city."

"Send Mr. Farrel another box of cigars, popsy-wops. Don Mike, howdid you guess it?"

"Oh, all the real plutocrats in New York have been sold memberships inthat instrument of propaganda by the wily sons of Nippon. The JapanSociety is supposed to be a vehicle for establishing friendliercommercial and social relations between the United States and Japan.The society gives wonderful banquets and yammers away about theBrotherhood of Man and sends out pro-Japanese propaganda. Really, it'sa wonderful institution, Miss Parker. The millionaire white men of NewYork finance the society, and the Japs run it. It was some shrewdJapanese member of the Japan Society who sent you to Okada on thisland-deal, was it not, Mr. Parker?"

"You're too good a guesser for comfort," the latter parried. "I'mgoing to write some letters. I'm motoring in to El Toro thisafternoon, and I'll want to mail them."

"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'," Don Miguel assured himlightly. "Whenever you feel the urge for further information aboutyourself and your Japanese friends, I am at your service. I expect toprove to you in about three lessons that you have unwittingly permittedyourself to develop into a very poor citizen, even if you did load upwith Liberty Bonds and deliver four-minute speeches during all of theloan drives."

"Oh, I'm as good as the average American, despite what you say,"retorted the banker, good-naturedly, as he left them.

The master of Palomar gazed after the retreating figure of his guest.In his glance there was curiosity, pain, and resignation. He continuedto stare at the door through which Parker had disappeared, until rousedfrom his reverie by Kay's voice.

"The average American doesn't impress you greatly, does he, Don Mike?"

"Oh, I'm not one of that supercilious breed of Americans which toadiesto an alleged European culture by finding fault with his own people,"he hastened to assure her. "What distresses me is the knowledge thatwe are a very moral nation, that we have never subjugated weakerpeoples, that we have never coveted our neighbor's goods, that we canoutthink and outwork and outgame and outinvent every nation underheaven, and yet haven't brains enough to do our own thinking inworld-affairs. It is discouraging to contemplate the smug complacency,whether it be due to ignorance or apathy, which permits aliens toreside in our midst and set up agencies for our destruction and theirbenefit. If I——— Why, you're in riding-costume, aren't you?"

"You will never be popular with women if you do not mend your ways,"she informed him, with a little grimace of disapproval. "Do you notknow that women loathe non-observing men?"

"So do I. Stodgy devils! Sooner or later, the fool-killer gets themall. Please do not judge me to-day, Miss Parker. Perhaps, after awhile, I may be more discerning. By Jupiter, those very becomingriding-togs will create no end of comment among the natives!"

"You said Panchito was to be mine while I am your guest, Don Mike."

"I meant it."

"I do not relish the easy manner in which you risk parting with him.The idea of betting that wonder-horse against a box of filthy cigars!"

"Oh, I wasn't risking him," he retorted, dryly. "However, before youride Panchito, I'll put him through his paces. He hasn't been riddenfor three or four months, I dare say, and when he feels particularlygood, he carries on just a little."

"If he's sober-minded, may I ride him to-day?"

"We shall quarrel if you insist upon treating yourself as company. Myhome and all I possess are here for your happiness. If your mother andfather do not object———"

"My father doesn't bother himself opposing my wishes, and mother—bythe way, you've made a perfectly tremendous hit with mother. She toldme I could go riding with you."

He blushed boyishly at this vote of confidence. Kay noted the blush,and liked him all the better for it.

"Very well," he answered. "We'll ride down to the mission first. Imust pay my respects to my friends there—didn't bother to look in onthem last night, you know. Then we will ride over to the Sepulvidaranch for luncheon. I want you to know Anita Sepulvida. She's a verylovely girl and a good pal of mine. You'll like her."

"Let's go," she suggested, "while mother is still convoying Mr. Okada.He is still interested in that sweet-lime tree. By the way," shecontinued, as they rose and walked down the porch together, "I havenever heard of a sweet-lime before."

"It's the only one of its kind in this country, Miss Parker, and it isvery old. Just before it came into bearing for the first time, mygrandmother, while walking along the porch with a pan of sugar in herhands, stubbed her toe and fell off the porch, spilling her pan ofsugar at the base of the tree. The result of this accident isnoticeable in the fruit to this very day."

She glanced up at him suspiciously, but not even the shadow of a smilehovered on his grave features. He opened the rear gate for her andthey passed out into the compound.

"That open fireplace in the adobe wall under the shed yonder was wherethe cowboys used to sit and dry themselves after a rainy day on therange," he informed her. "In fact, this compound was reserved for thehelp. Here they held their bailies in the old days."

"What is that little building yonder—that lean-to against the mainadobe wall?" Kay demanded.

"That was the settlement-room. You must know that the possessors ofdark blood seldom settle a dispute by argument, Miss Parker. In daysgone by, whenever a couple of peons quarreled (and they quarreledfrequently), the majordomo, or foreman of the ranch, would cause thesem*n to be stripped naked and placed in this room to settle their rowwith nature's weapons. When honor was satisfied, the victor came tothis grating and announced it. Not infrequently, peons have emergedfrom this room minus an ear or a nose, but, as a general thing, thismethod of settlement was to be preferred to knife or pistol."

Farrel tossed an empty box against the door and invited the girl toclimb up on it and peer into the room. She did so. Instantly aferocious yell resounded from the semi-darkness within.

"Good gracious! Is that a ghost?" Kay cried, and leaped to the ground.

"No; confound it!" Farrel growled. "It's your Japanese cook. Pablolocked him in there this morning, in order that Carolina might have aclear field for her culinary art. Pablo!"

His cry brought an answering hail from Pablo, over at the barn, andpresently the old majordomo entered the compound. Farrel spoke sternlyto him in Spanish, and, with a shrug of indifference, Pablo unlockedthe door of the settlement-room and the Japanese cook bounded out. Hewas inarticulate with frenzy, and disappeared through the gate of thecompound with an alacrity comparable only to that of a tin-canned dog.

"I knew he had been placed here temporarily," Don Miguel confessed,"but I did think Pablo would have sense enough to let him out whenbreakfast was over. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. I think that incident is the funniest I have ever seen," thegirl laughed. "Poor outraged fellow!"

"Well, if you think it's funny, so do I. Any sorrow I felt at yourcook's incarceration was due to my apprehension as to your feelings,not his."

"What a fearful rage he is in, Don Mike!"

"Oh, well, he can help himself to the fruit of our famous lime-tree andget sweet again. Pablo, you russet scoundrel, no more rough stuff ifyou know what's good for you. Where is Panchito?"

"I leave those horse loose in the pasture," Pablo replied, a whitabashed. "I like for see if those horse he got some brains like beforeyou go ride heem. For long time Panchito don' hear hees boss callheem. Mebbeso he forget—no?"

"We shall see, Pablo."

XII

They walked out to the barn. In a little green field in theoak-studded valley below, a dozen horses were feeding. Farrel whistledshrilly. Instantly, one of the horses raised his head and listened.Again Farrel whistled, and a neigh answered him as Panchito broke fromthe herd and came galloping up the slope. When his master whistledagain, the gallop developed into a furious burst of speed; whereatFarrel slipped inside the barn and shut the door, while round and roundthe barn Panchito galloped, seeking the lost master.

Suddenly Don Miguel emerged and, with little affectionate nickerings,the beautiful animal trotted up to him, ran his head over the master'sshoulder, and rubbed his sleek cheek against the man's. Farrel nuzzledhim and rubbed him lovingly between the ears before producing a lump ofsugar. Upon command, Panchito squatted on his hind quarters like a dogand held his head out stiffly. Upon his nose Farrel balanced the lumpof sugar, backed away, and stood in front of him. The horse did notmove. Suddenly Farrel snapped his fingers. With a gentle toss of hishead, Panchito threw the lump of sugar in the air and made a futilesnap at it as it came down. Then he rose, picked the lump upcarefully, and, holding it between his lips, advanced and proffered hismaster a bite.

"Oh, you eat it yourself!" Farrel cried, and reached for the horse'sunkempt mane. With the ease of long practice, he swung aboard thehorse and, at the touch of his heels, Panchito bounded away. Far downthe mesa he raced, Farrel guiding him with his knees; then back andover the six-foot corral-fence with something of the airy freedom of abird. In the corral, Farrel slid off, ran with the galloping animalfor fifty feet, grasping his mane, and sprang completely over him, ranfifty feet more and sprang back, as nimbly as a monkey. Panchito wasgalloping easily, steadily, now, at a trained gait, like a circushorse, so Farrel sat sideways on him and discarded his boots, afterwhich he stood erect on the smooth, glossy back and rode him, first onone foot, then on the other. Next he sat down on the animal again andclapped his hands.

"Panchito, my boots!" he ordered. But Panchito only pinned his earsand shook his head. "You see," Farrel called to Kay, "he is agentleman, and declines to perform a menial service. But I shall forcehim. Panchito, you rebel, pick up my boots and hand them to me."

For answer, Panchito threw his hind end aloft half a dozen times, andKay's silvery laugh echoed through the corral as Farrel, appearing tolose his seat, slid forward on the horse's withers and clung with armsand legs round Panchito's neck, emulating terror. Thereupon, Panchitostood up on his hind legs, and Farrel, making futile clutchings at thehorse's mane, slid helplessly back; over his mount's glossy rump andsat down rather solidly in the dust of the corral.

"Bravo!" the girl cried. "Why, he's a circus horse!"

"I've schooled him a little for trick riding at rodeos, Miss Parker.We've carried off many a prize, and when I dress in the motley of aclown and pretend to ride him rough and do that silly slide, mostpeople enjoy it."

Farrel got up, recovered his boots, and put them on.

"He'll do, the old humorist," he announced, as he joined her. "Hehasn't forgotten anything, and wasn't he glad to see me again? You usean English saddle, I dare say, and ride with a short stirrup?"

Panchito dutifully followed like a dog at heel to the tack-room, whereFarrel saddled him and carefully fitted the bridle with thesnaffle-bit. Following a commanding slap on the fore leg, theintelligent animal knelt for Kay to mount him, after which, Farreladjusted the stirrup leathers for her.

In the meantime, Pablo was saddling a splendid, big dappled-graygelding.

"One of the best roping-horses in California, and very fast for half amile. He's half thoroughbred," Farrel explained. "He was my father'smount." He caressed the gray's head. "Do you miss him, Bob,old-timer?" he queried.

Kay observed her companion's saddle. It was of black, hand-carvedleather, with sterling-silver trimmings and long tapaderas—a saddleto thrill every drop of the Castilian blood that flowed in the veins ofits owner. The bridle was of finely plaited rawhide, with fancysliding knots, a silver Spanish bit, and single reins of silver-linkchain and plaited rawhide. At the pommel hung coiled a well-wornrawhide riata.

When the gray was saddled, Farrel did not mount, but came to Kay andhanded her the horsehair leading-rope.

"If you will be good enough to take the horses round in front," hesuggested, "I'll go back to the kennels and loose the hounds. On ourway over to the Sepulvida rancho, we're liable to put up a panther or acoyote, and if we can get our quarry out into the open, we'll have aglorious chase. I've run coyotes and panthers down with Panchito androped them. A panther isn't to be sneezed at," he continued,apologetically. "The state pays a bounty of thirty dollars for apanther-pelt, and then gives you back the pelt."

Five minutes later, when he came round the north corner of the oldhacienda, his hounds frisking before him, he met Kay riding to meet himon Panchito, but the gray gelding was not in sight. The girl wasexcited.

"Where is my mount, Miss Parker?" he demanded.

"Just as I rode up in front, a man came out of the patio, and startedthat automobile hurriedly. He had scarcely gotten it turned round whenone of his front tires blew out. This seemed to infuriate him andfrighten him. He considered a minute or two, then suddenly ran over tome, snatched the leading-rope out of my hand, mounted, and fled downthe avenue at top speed."

"'The wicked flee when no man pursueth'," the master of Palomarreplied, quietly, and stepped over to the automobile for an examinationof the license. "Ah, my father's ancient enemy!" he exclaimed, "AndréLoustalot has been calling on your father, and has just learned that Iam living. I think I comprehend his reason for borrowing my horse anddusting out of here so precipitately."

"There he goes now!" Kay cried, as the gray burst from the shelter ofthe palms in the avenue and entered the long open stretch of white roadleading down the San Gregorio.

Don Mike's movements were as casual as if the theft of a horse in broaddaylight was an every-day occurrence.

"Unfortunately for that stupid fellow, he borrowed the wrong horse," heannounced, gravely. "The sole result of his action will be to delayour ride until tomorrow. I'm sorry, but it now becomes necessary forme to ask you for Panchito."

She slid silently to the ground. Swiftly but calmly he readjusted thestirrups; then he faced the girl.

"Want to see some fun?" he demanded.

"Why—yes," she replied, breathlessly.

"You're a good little sport. Take your father's car and follow me.Please bring Pablo with you, and tell him I said he was to bring hisrifle. If Loustalot gets me, he is to follow on Panchito and getLoustalot. Thank you, Miss Parker."

He swung lightly into the unaccustomed flat saddle and, disdaining tofollow the road, cut straight across country; Panchito taking thefences easily, the hounds belling lustily as they strung out behindhim. Kay did not wait to follow his flight, but calling for William toget out the car, she ran round to the barn and delivered Farrel'smessage to Pablo, who grunted his comprehension and started for hiscabin at a surprising rate of speed for an old man. Five minutes afterFarrel had left the Rancho Palomar, Kay and Pablo were roaring down thevalley in pursuit.

Half a mile beyond the mission they came upon Don Mike and his father'senemy. In the first mile, the latter had ridden the gray out; spent,gasping, the gallant animal was proceeding at a leg-weary, lumberinggallop when Miguel Farrel, following on Panchito at half that gallantanimal's speed, came up with Loustalot. Straight at the big gray hedrove, "hazing" him off the road and stopping him abruptly. At thesame time, he leaped from Panchito full on top of Loustalot, and borethe latter crashing to the ground.

The chase was over. Half-stunned, the enemy of Don Miguel José FarrelII lay flat on his back, blinking up at Don Miguel Farrel III as thelatter's knees pressed the Loustalot breast, the while his fingersclasped the hairy Loustalot throat in a grip that was a promise ofdeath if the latter struggled.

As Kay drew up in the car and, white-faced and wondering, gazed at theunwonted spectacle, Miguel Farrel released his captive and stood erect.

"So sorry to have made a brawl in your presence, Miss Parker, but hewould have ruined our old Bob horse if I hadn't overtaken him." Heturned to the man on the ground. "Get up, Loustalot!" The latterstaggered to his feet. "Pablo," Farrel continued, "take this man backto the ranch and lock him up in your private calaboose. See that hedoes not escape, and permit no one to speak with him."

Prom the gray's saddle he took a short piece of rope, such as vaquerosuse to tie the legs of an animal when they have roped and thrown it.

"Mount!" he commanded. Loustalot climbed wearily aboard the spentgray, and held his hands behind him with Farrel bound them securely.Pablo thereupon mounted Panchito, took the gray's leading-rope, andstarted back to the ranch.

"How white your face is!" Farrel murmured, deprecatingly, as he came tothe side of the car. "So sorry our ride has been spoiled." He glancedat his wrist-watch. "Only ten o'clock," he continued. "I wonder ifyou'd be gracious enough to motor me in to El Toro. Your father plansto use the car after luncheon, but we will be back by twelve-thirty."

"Certainly. Delighted!" the girl replied, in rather a small,frightened voice.

"Thank you." He considered a moment. "I think it no less than fair towarn you, Miss Parker, that my trip has to do with a scheme that maydeprive your father of his opportunity to acquire the Rancho Palomar atone-third of its value. I think the scheme may be at least partiallysuccessful, but if I am to succeed at all, I'll have to act promptly."

She held out her hand to him.

"My father plays fair, Don Mike. I hope you win."

And she unlatched the door of the tonneau and motioned him to enter.

XIII

The return of Pablo Artelan to the hacienda with his employer'sprisoner was a silent and dignified one up to the moment they reachedthe entrance to the palm avenue. Here the prisoner, apparently havinggathered together his scattered wits, turned in the saddle andaddressed his guard.

"Artelan," he said, in Spanish, "if you will permit me to go, I willgive you five thousand dollars."

"If you are worth five thousand dollars to me," the imperturbable Pabloreplied, calmly, "how much more are you worth to Don Miguel Farrel?"

"Ten thousand! You will be wealthy."

"What need have I for wealth, Loustalot? Does not Don Miguel provideall things necessary for a happy existence?"

"I will give you twelve thousand. Do not be a fool, Artelan. Come; besensible and listen to reason."

"Silence, animal! Is not the blood of my brother on your head? Oneword———"

"Fifteen thousand, Artelan. Quick. There is little time to———"

Pablo rode up beside him and quite deliberately smote the man heavilyacross the mouth with the back of his hand.

"There will be no more talk of money," he commanded, tersely.

John Parker had finished writing his letters and was standing, with hiswife and the potato baron, in front of the hacienda when Pablo and hisprisoner rode into the yard. Thin rivulets of blood were tricklingfrom the Basque's nose and lips; his face was ashen with rage andapprehension.

"Why, Loustalot, what has happened?" Parker cried, and stepped out tointercept the gray gelding, but Pablo, riding behind, struck the grayon the flank, and the animal bounded forward. But Parker was not to bedenied. He, too, leaped, seized the reins, and brought the animal to ahalt. Pablo glared at him hatefully; then, remembering that this manwas no longer an interloper, but an honored guest of the house ofFarrel, he removed his sombrero and bowed courteously.

"Señor Parker," he explained, "thees man, Loustalot, have made the beegmeestake to steal thees horse from Don Miguel Farrel. For long timesince Don Miguel he's beeg like leetle baby, thees Basque he cannot setthe foot on the Rancho Palomar, but to-day, because he theenk DonMiguel don' leeve, theese fellow have the beeg idea she's all right forcome to theese rancho. Well, he come." Here Pablo shrugged. "I thinkmebbeso you tell theese Loustalot Don Miguel have come back.Car-ramba! He is scared like hell. Queeck, like rabbeet, he run forthose automobile, but those automobile she have one leak in the wheel.Señor, thees is the judgment of God. Myself, I theenk the speerit ofDon Miguel's father have put the nail where thees fellow can peeck heemup. Well, when hee's nothing for do, hee's got for do sometheeng, eh?Mira! If Don Miguel catch thees coyote on the Rancho Palomar, hee'scut off hees tail like that"—and Pablo snapped his tobacco-stainedfingers. "Queeck! Hee's got for do something for make the vamose.The Señorita Parker, she rides Panchito and holds the gray horse forDon Miguel, who has gone for get the dogs. Thees animal, Loustalot,hee's go crazy with the fear, so he grab thees gray horse from theSeñorita Parker and hee's ride away fast like the devil just when DonMiguel arrive with the hounds. Then Don Miguel, hee's take Panchitoand go get thees man."

"But where are Don Miguel and Miss Parker now?"

"Mees Parker, she take the automobile; the señorita and Don Miguel goto El Toro. Me, I come back with thees Basque for put heem in thecalaboose."

"But, Pablo, you cannot confine this man without a warrant."

Pablo, too polite to argue with a guest, merely bowed and smileddeprecatingly.

"My boss, hee's tell me put thees fellow in the calaboose. If troublecome from thees—well, Don Miguel have the fault, not Pablo Artelan.If the señor please for let go the gray horse—no?"

"Farrel has gone to El Toro to attach my bank-account and my sheep,"the Basque explained in a whisper, leaning low over the gray's neck."His father had an old judgment against me. When I thought youngFarrel dead, I dared do business—in my own name—understand? Now, ifhe collects, you've lost the Rancho Palomar—help me, for God's sake,Parker!"

Parker's hand fell away from the reins.

"I have no sympathy for you, Loustalot," he replied, coldly. "If youhave stolen this horse, you must pay the penalty. I shall not helpyou. This is no affair of mine." And he stepped aside and wavedLoustalot back into Pablo's possession, who thanked him politely androde away round the hacienda wall. Three minutes later, Loustalot, hishands unbound, was safe under lock and key in the settlement-room, andPablo, rifle in lap, sat on a box outside the door and rolled abrown-paper cigarette.

Throughout the preceding colloquy, Mrs. Parker had said nothing. WhenPablo and his prisoner had disappeared, she asked her husband:

"What did that man say to you? He spoke in such a low tone I couldn'thear him."

Parker, without hesitation, related to her, in the presence of Okada,the astonishing news which Loustalot had given him.

"Good!" the lady declared, emphatically. "I hope that delightful DonMike collects every penny."

"Very poor business, I zink," Mr. Okada opined, thoughtfully.

"At any rate," Parker observed, "our host isn't letting the grass growunder his feet. I wonder if he'll attach Loustalot's automobile. It'snew, and worth about eight thousand dollars. Well, we shall see whatwe shall see."

"I zink I take little walk. 'Scuse me, please," said Okada, and bowedto Parker and his wife. He gave both the impression that he had beenan unwilling witness to an unhappy and distressing incident and wishedto efface himself from the scene. Mrs. Parker excused him with a briefand somewhat wintry smile, and the little Oriental started strollingdown the palm-lined avenue. No sooner had the gate closed behind them,however, than he hastened back to Loustalot's car, and at the end often minutes of furious labor had succeeded in exchanging the deflatedtire for one of the inflated spare tires at the rear of the car. Thismatter attended to, he strolled over to the ranch blacksmith shop andsearched through it until he found that which he sought—a long, heavypair of bolt-clippers such as stockmen use for dehorning young cattle.Armed with this tool, he slipped quietly round to the rear of Pablo's"calaboose," and went to work noiselessly on the small iron-grilledwindow of the settlement-room.

The bars were an inch in diameter and too thick to be cut with thebolt-clippers, but Okada did not despair. With the tool he grasped theadobe window-ledge and bit deeply into it. Piece after piece of theancient adobe came away, until presently the bases of the iron bars layexposed; whereupon Okada seized them, one by one, in his hands and bentthem upward and outward, backward and forward, until he was enabled toremove them altogether. Then he stole quietly back to the blacksmithshop, restored the bolt-clippers, went to the Basque's automobile, andwaited.

Presently, Loustalot appeared warily round the corner. A glance at hisautomobile showed that the flat tire had been shifted; whereupon henodded his thanks to the Japanese, who stared impassively while theBasque climbed into his car, threw out his low gear, let go his brakes,and coasted silently out of the yard and into the avenue. The haciendascreened him from Pablo's view as the latter, all unconscious of whatwas happening, dozed before the door of the empty settlement-room.Once over the lip of the mesa, Loustalot started his car and sped downthe San Gregorio as fast as he dared drive.

XIV

Following his illuminating interview with Pablo and Loustalot, JohnParker returned to a chair on the porch patio, lighted a fresh cigar,and gave himself up to contemplating the tangle in his hithertowell-laid plans. An orderly and methodical man always, it annoyed himgreatly to discover this morning that a diabolical circ*mstance overwhich he had no control and which he had not remotely taken intoconsideration should have arisen to embarrass and distress him and,perchance, plunge him into litigation. Mrs. Parker, having possessedherself of some fancy work, took a seat beside him, and, for the spaceof several minutes, stitched on, her thoughts, like her husband's,evidently bent upon the affairs of Miguel Farrel.

"Who is this gory creature Pablo just brought in?" she demanded,finally.

"His name is André Loustalot, Kate, and he is a sheep-man from the SanCarpojo country—a Basque, I believe. He hasn't a particularly goodreputation in San Marcos County, but he's one of the biggest sheepmenin the state and a heavy depositor in the bank at El Toro. He was oneof the reasons that moved me to buy the Farrel mortgage from the bank."

"Explain the reason, John."

"Well, I figured that eventually I would have to foreclose on old DonMiguel Farrel, and it would require approximately two years after thatbefore my irrigation system would be completed and the valley landsready for colonization. I was tolerably certain I would never restockthe range with cattle, and I knew Loustalot would buy several thousandyoung sheep and run them on the Palomar, provided I leased thegrazing-privilege to him for two years at a reasonable figure. I washere, under authority of a court order, to conserve the estate fromwaste, and my attorney assured me that, under that order, I hadauthority to use my own judgment in the administration of the estate,following the order of foreclosure. Now young Farrel shows up alive,and that will nullify my suit for foreclosure. It also nullifies mylease to Loustalot."

"I'm quite certain that fiery Don Mike will never consent to the lease,John," his wife remarked.

"If he declines to approve the lease, I shall be quite embarrassed Ifear, Kate. You see, dear, Loustalot bought about fifteen thousandsheep to pasture on the Palomar, and now he's going to find himself inthe unenviable position of having the sheep but no pasture. He'llprobably sue me to recover his loss, if any."

"It's too bad you didn't wait ten days before signing that lease, John."

"Yes," he replied, a trifle testily. "But we all were convinced thatyoung Farrel had been killed in Siberia."

"But you hadn't completed your title to this ranch, John?"

"You wouldn't murder a man who was going to commit suicide, would you?The ranch was as good as mine. If I had waited to make absolutelycertain Farrel was dead, the wait might have cost me fifty thousanddollars. I rented the ranch at fifty cents per acre."

"One hundred thousand acres, more or less, for two years, at fiftycents per acre per annum. So, instead of making fifty thousand you'velost that sum," his wife mused aloud.

"I've lost one hundred thousand," he corrected. "A one-year lease isnot desirable; Loustalot was my sole client, and I've lost him forgood."

"Why despair, John? I've a notion that if you give Don Mike fiftythousand dollars to confirm Loustalot in the lease, he will forget hisenmity and agree to the lease. That would, at least, prevent alaw-suit."

Parker's face brightened.

"I might do that," he assented. "The title will remain in Farrel'sname for another year, and I have always believed that half a loaf wasbetter than none at all. If young Farrel subscribes to the samesentiments, all may yet go nicely."

"Fifty thousand dollars would be rather a neat sum to save out of thewreck," she observed, sagely. "He seems quite a reasonable young man."

"I like him," Parker declared. "I like him ever so much."

"So do I, John. He's an old-fashioned gentleman."

"He's a he man—the sort of chap I'd like to see Kay married to someday."

Mrs. Parker looked searchingly at her husband.

"He told Kay he was half greaser, John. Would you care to have ourlittle daughter married to that sort of man?"

"How like a woman! You always take the personal viewpoint. I said I'dlike to see Kay married to a he man like Miguel Farrel. And Farrel isnot half greaser. A greaser is, I take it, a sort of mongrel—Indianand Spanish. Farrel is clean-strain Caucasian, Kate. He's a whiteman—inside and out."

"His financial situation renders him impossible, of course."

"Naturally."

"I wish it were otherwise, Johnny. Perhaps, if you were a little easywith him—if you gave him a chance———"

"Kate, I'd always be afraid of his easy-going Latin blood. If I shouldput him on his feet, he would, in all probability, stand still. Hemight even walk a little, but I doubt me if he'd ever do a Marathon."

"John, you're wrong," Mrs. Parker affirmed, with conviction. "Thatyoung man will go far. What would you do if Kay should fall in lovewith him?"

"I'm sure I do not know, Kate. What would you do?"

"I do not know, John. Nevertheless, it is interesting to contemplatethe situation. If he should win this ranch back from you, he couldhave her with my blessing."

"Likewise with mine. That would put him right up in the go-getterclass, which is the class I want to see Kay marry into. But he willnot win back this ranch, Kate."

"How do you know he will not?"

"Because I'm going to do everything in my power to keep him fromredeeming it—and I'm neither a mental nor a financial cripple."

"Where did the potato baron go?" Mrs. Parker queried, suddenly changingthe conversation.

"Down into the valley, I imagine, to look over the land."

"His presence here is not agreeable to Mr. Farrel, John. I think youmight manage to indicate to Mr. Okada that now, Mr. Farrel havingreturned so unexpectedly, your land deal must necessarily be delayedfor a year, and consequently, further negotiations at this time areimpossible."

"Yes; I think I had better give him a strong hint to go away. Itirritates Farrel to have him in the house, although he'd never admit itto us."

"I wonder, John, if it irritates him to have us in the house?"

"I wanted to leave to-day, but when he invited us to stay, you wouldn'tpermit me to consider leaving," he reminded her.

"But, John, his manner was so hearty and earnest we had to accept.Really, I think, we might have hurt his feelings if we had declined."

"Kay seemed happy to stay."

"That is another reason for accepting his invitation. I know she'llenjoy it so here."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Parker replied, dryly. "She hashelped herself to the car and driver in order to aid Farrel at myexpense."

His humorous wife smiled covertly. Parker smoked contemplatively for aquarter of an hour. Then,

"Here comes the smiling son of Nippon, John," Mrs. Parker remarked.

The potato baron entered the secluded patio and sat down beside them onthe porch. With a preliminary whistling intake of breath, he remarkedthat it was a beautiful day and then proceeded, without delay, todiscuss the subject closest to his heart—the fertile stretches of theSan Gregorio valley.

Parker squirmed a trifle uneasily.

"As I explained to you this morning, Mr. Okada," he began, "our dealhas become a trifle complicated by reason of the wholly unexpectedreturn of Mr. Miguel Farrel."

"Very great misfortune," Okada sympathized. "Very greatdisappointment."

Mrs. Parker favored him with a look of violent dislike and departedabruptly, much to Okada's relief. Immediately he drew his chair closeto Parker's.

"You zink Mr. Farrel perhaps can raise in one year the money to redeemproperty?" he demanded.

"I haven't the slightest information as to his money-raising ability,other than the information given me by that man Pablo has just lockedup. If, as Loustalot informed me, Farrel has a judgment against him,he is extremely liable to raise a hundred thousand or more to-day, whatwith funds in bank and about fifteen thousand sheep."

"I zink Farrel not very lucky to-day wiz sheep, Mr. Parker."

"Well, whether he's lucky or not, he has our deal blocked for one year.I can do nothing now until title to this ranch is actually vested inme. I am morally certain Farrel will never redeem the property,but—well, you realize my predicament, Mr. Okada. Our deal isdefinitely hung up for one year."

"Very great disappointment!" Okada replied sadly. "Next year, I zinkCalifornia legislature make new law so Japanese people have very muchdifficulty to buy land. Attorneys for Japanese Association ofCalifornia very much frightened because they know Japanesetreaty-rights not affected by such law. If my people can buy thisvalley before that law comes to make trouble for Japanese people, Izink very much better for everybody."

"But, my dear Mr. Okada, I cannot make a move until Miguel Farrel failsto redeem the property at the expiration of the redemption period, oneyear hence."

"Perhaps that sheeps-man kill Mr. Farrel," Okada suggested, hopefully."I hoping, for sake of Japanese people, that sheeps-man very bad luckfor Mr. Farrel."

"Well, I wouldn't care to have him for an enemy. However, I dare sayFarrel knows the man well enough and will protect himself accordingly.By the way, Farrel is violently opposed to Japanese colonization of theSan Gregorio."

"You zink he have prejudice against Japanese people?"

"I know it, Mr. Okada, and, for that reason, and the further reasonthat our deal is now definitely hung up for a year, I suggest that youreturn to El Toro with me this afternoon. I am no longer master here,but I shall be delighted to have you as my guest at the hotel in ElToro while you are making your investigations of the property. I wishto avoid the possibility of embarrassment to you, to Mr. Farrel, and tomy family. I am sure you understand our position, Mr. Okada."

The potato baron nodded, scowling slightly.

XV

At a point where the road, having left the valley and climbed a gradeto a mesa that gave almost an air-plane view of the San Gregorio,Miguel Farrel looked back long and earnestly. For the first time sinceentering the car, at Kay Parker's invitation, he spoke.

"It's worth it," he announced, with conviction, "worth a fight to afinish with whatever weapons come to hand. If I——— By the holypoker! Sheep! Sheep on the Rancho Palomar! Thousands of them. Look!Over yonder!"

"How beautiful they look against those green and purple and goldhillsides!" the girl exclaimed.

"Usually a sheep is not beautiful to a cow-man," he reminded her."However, if those sheep belong to Loustalot, they constitute thefairest sight mine eyes have gazed upon to date."

"And who might he be?"

"That shaggy thief I manhandled a few minutes ago. He's a sheep-manfrom the San Carpojo, and for a quarter of a century he has not daredset foot on the Palomar. Your father, thinking I was dead and that theranch would never be redeemed after foreclosure of the mortgage, leasedthe grazing-privilege to Loustalot. I do not blame him. I do notthink we have more than five hundred head of cattle on the ranch, andit would be a shame to waste that fine green feed." Suddenly the sadand somber mien induced by his recent grief fled his countenance. Heturned to her eagerly. "Miss Parker, if I have any luck worth whileto-day, I think I may win back my ranch."

"I wish you could win it back, Don Mike. I think we all wish it."

"I hope you all do." He laughed joyously. "My dear Miss Parker, thisis the open season on terrible practical jokes. I'm no judge of sheepin bulk, but there must be not less than ten thousand over on thathillside, and if the title to them is vested in André Loustalot to-day,it will be vested in me about a month from now. I shall attach them;they will be sold at pub-lie auction by the sheriff to satisfy in partmy father's old judgment against Loustalot, and I shall bid themin—cheap. Nobody in San Marcos County will bid against me, for I canoutbid everybody and acquire the sheep without having to put up a centof capital. Oh, my dear, thoughtful, vengeful old dad! Dying, heassigned that judgment to me and had it recorded. I came across it inhis effects last night.

"What are sheep worth, Don Mike?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, but I should say that by next fall,those sheep should be worth not less than six dollars a head, includingthe wool-clip. They will begin to lamb in February, and by the timeyour father dispossesses me a year hence, the increase will amount toconsiderable. That flock of sheep should be worth about one hundredthousand dollars by the time I have to leave the Palomar, and I knowI'm going to collect at least fifty thousand dollars in cash inaddition."

He drew from his vest pocket a check for that sum, signed by AndréLoustalot and drawn in favor of John Parker, Trustee.

"How did you come by that check?" Kay demanded. "It belongs to myfather, so, if you do not mind, Mr. Farrel, I shall retain it anddeliver it to my father." Quite deliberately, she folded the check andthrust it into her hand-bag. There was a bright spot of color in eachcheek as she faced him, awaiting his explanation. He favored her witha Latin shrug.

"Your father will not accept the check, Miss Parker. Loustalot came tothe hacienda this morning for the sole purpose of handing him thischeck, but your father refused to accept it on the plea that the leasehe had entered into with Loustalot for the grazing-privilege of theranch was now null and void."

"How do you know all this? You were not present."

"No; I was not present. Miss Parker, but—this check is present; thosesheep are present; André Loustalot was present, then absent, and is nowpresent again. I deduce the facts in the case. The information that Iwas alive and somewhere around the hacienda gave Loustalot the frightof his unwashed existence; that's why he appropriated that gray horseand fled so precipitately when he discovered his automobile had a fiattire. The scoundrel feared to take time to shift wheels."

"Why?"

"He had the promise of a Farrel that a great misfortune would overtakehim if he ever get foot on the Rancho Palomar. And he knows the tribeof Farrel."

"But how did you secure possession of that check, Don Mike?"

"Miss Parker, when a hard-boiled, unconvicted murderer and grass-thiefborrows my horse without my permission, and I ride that sort of mandown, upset him, sit on him, and choke him, the instincts of myancestors, the custom of the country, common sense, and my latemilitary training all indicate to me that I should frisk him for deadlyweapons. I did that. Well, I found this check when I friskedLoustalot back yonder. And—if a poor bankrupt like myself may bepermitted to claim a right, you are not so well entitled to that checkas I am. At least, I claim it by right of discovery."

"It is worthless until my father endorses it, Don Mike."

"His clear, bold chirography will not add a mite to its value, MissParker. Checks by André Loustalot on the First National Bank of ElToro aren't going to be honored for some little time. Why? I'll tellyou. Because Little Mike the Hustler is going to attach hisbank-account this bright April morning."

She laughed happily.

"You haven't wasted much time in vain regret, have you?" she teasedhim. "When you start hustling for a living, you're a man what hustles,aren't you?"

"'Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,'" he quoted. "Those sheepweren't visible to us from the floor of the valley; so I take it I wasnot visible to Loustalot's shepherds from the top of those hills when Iredeemed my father's promise to their employer. They'd never suspectthe identity of either of us, I dare say. Well, Pablo will hold himincomunicado until I've completed my investigations."

"Why are you incarcerating him in your private bastile, Don Mike?"

"Well, I never thought to profane my private bastile with that fellow,but I have to keep him somewhere while I'm looking up his assets."

"But he may sue you for false imprisonment, kidnapping, or—orsomething."

"Yes; and I imagine he'd get a judgment against me. But what goodwould that do him? I haven't any assets."

"But you're going to acquire some rather soon, are you not?"

"I'll give all my money to my friend, Father Dominic, to do with as hesees fit. He'll see fit to loan it all back to me."

"But can you hide ten thousand sheep?"

"If that fellow tries to levy on my sheep, I'll about murder him,"Farrel declared. "But we're crossing our bridges before we come tothem."

"So we are, Don Mike. Tell me all about this ancient feud with AndréLoustalot."

"Certainly. Twenty-five-odd years ago, this county was pestered by agang of petty cow-thieves. They'd run lots of from ten to twenty fatsteers off the range at a time, slaughter them in El Toro, and bury thehides to conceal the identity of the animals—the brands, youunderstand. The meat they would peddle to butchers in towns along therailroad line. The ringleader owned a slaughter-house in El Toro, and,for a long time, nobody suspected him—the cattle were driven in atnight. Well, my father grew weary of this form of old-fashionedprofiteering, and it seemed to him that the sheriff of San MarcosCounty was too great a simpleton to do anything about it. So my fatherstood for the office as an independent candidate and was elected on aplatform which read, 'No steers' taken off this ranch withoutpermission in writing from the owner.' Within six months, dad had halfa dozen of our prominent citizens in San Quentin Penitentiary; then heresigned the office to his chief deputy, Don Nicolás Sandoval, who hasheld it ever since.

"Now, during that political campaign, which was a warm and bitter one,André Loustalot permitted himself the privilege of libeling my father.He declared in a public address to a gathering of voters in the SanCarpojo valley that my father was a crook, the real leader of therustlers, and merely seeking the office of sheriff in order to protectthe cow-thieves. When the campaign ended, my father swore to a warrantcharging Loustalot with criminal libel and sued him for one hundredthousand dollars damages. A San Marcos County jury awarded my father ajudgment in the sum prayed for. Loustalot appealed the case to theSupreme Court, but inasmuch as there wasn't the slightest doubt of hisguilt, the higher court affirmed the decision of the Superior Court.

"Loustalot was a poor man in those days. He was foreman of a sheepoutfit, with an interest in the increase of the flock, and inasmuch asthese Basques seldom reduce their deals to writing, the sheriff couldnever satisfy himself that Loustalot had any assets in the shape ofsheep. At any rate, the Basque and his employer and all of his Basquefriends denied that Loustalot had any assets.

"For twenty-five years, my father has, whenever the statute oflimitations threatened to kill this judgment, revived it by havingLoustalot up on an order of court to be questioned regarding hisability to meet the judgment; every once in a while my father would sueout a new writ of execution, which would be returned unsatisfied by thesheriff. Six months ago, my father had the judgment revived by duelegal process, and, for some reason best known to himself, assigned itto me and had the assignment recorded. Of course, when I was reportedkilled in Siberia, Loustalot's attorneys naturally informed him that myjudgment had died with me unless I had left a will in favor of myfather. But when my father died intestate and there were no knownheirs, Loustalot doubtless felt that at last the curse had been liftedand probably began doing business in his own name. He's a thriftyfellow and, I dare say, he made a great deal of money on sheep duringthe war. I hope he has. That old judgment has been accumulatinginterest at seven per cent. for more than a quarter of a century, andin this state I believe the interest is compounded."

"But why did Loustalot hate your father so?" the girl queried.

"We had good fences on our ranch, but somehow those fences alwaysneeded repairing whenever André Loustalot's flock wandered over fromthe San Carpojo. In this state, one cannot recover for trespass unlessone keeps one's fences in repair—and Loustalot used to trespass on ourrange quite frequently and then blame his cussedness on our fences. Ofcourse, he broke our fences to let his sheep in to water at ourwaterholes, which was very annoying to us, because sheep befoul a rangeand destroy it; they eat down to the very grass-roots, and cattle willnot drink at a water-hole patronized by sheep. Well, our patience wasexhausted at last; so my father told Pablo to put out saltpeter at allof our water-holes. Saltpeter is not harmful to cattle but it is deathto sheep, and the only way we could keep Loustalot off our rangewithout resorting to firearms was to make his visits unprofitable.They were. That made Loustalot hate us, and one day, over in the AguaCaliente basin, when Pablo and his riders found Loustalot and his sheepthere, they rushed about five hundred of his sheep over a rocky benchand dropped them a sheer two hundred feet into a cañon. That startedsome shooting, and Pablo's brother and my first cousin, Juan Galvez,were killed. Loustalot, wounded, escaped on the pack-mule belonging tohis sheep outfit, and after that he and my father didn't speak."

Kay turned in her seat and looked at Farrel curiously.

"If you were not so desperately situated financially," she wanted toknow, "would you continue to pursue this man?"

He smiled grimly.

"Certainly. My father's honor, the blood of my kinsman, and the bloodof a faithful servant call for justice, however long delayed. Also,the honor of my state demands it now. I am prepared to make anysacrifice, even of my life, and grasp eagerly at all legal means—toprevent your father putting through tins monstrous deal with Okada."

She was troubled of soul.

"Of course," she pleaded presently, "you'll play the game with dad asfairly as he plays it with you."

"I shall play the game with him as fairly as he plays it with this landto which he owes allegiance," he corrected her sternly.

XVI

It was eleven o'clock when the car rolled down the main street of ElToro. From the sidewalk, sundry citizens, of diverse shades of color andconditions of servitude, observing Minuet Farrel, halted abruptly andstared as if seeing a ghost. Don Mike wanted to shout to them glad wordsof greeting, of affectionate badinage, after the fashion of thateasy-going and democratic community, but he feared to make the girl athis side conspicuous; so he contented himself by uncovering gravely tothe women and waving debonairly to the men. This constituting ocularevidence that he was not a ghost or a man who bore a striking physicalresemblance to one they mourned as dead, the men so saluted returned hisgreeting.

The few who had recognized him as he entered the town, quickly, by theircries of greeting, roused the loungers and idle conversationalists alongthe sidewalks further down the street. There was a rush to shop doors, acraning of necks, excited inquiries in Spanish and English; more shoutsof greeting. A gaunt, hawk-faced elderly man, with Castilian features,rode up on a bay horse, showed a sheriff's badge to William, thechauffeur, and informed him he was arrested for speeding. Then hepressed his horse close enough to extend a hand to Farrel.

"Miguel, my boy," he said in English, out of deference to the girl in thecar, "this is a very great—a very unexpected joy. We have grieved foryou, my friend."

His faint clipped accent, the tears in his eyes, told Kay that this manwas one of Don Miguel's own people. Farrel clasped the proffered handand replied to him in Spanish; then, remembering his manners, hepresented the horseman as Don Nicolás Sandoval, sheriff of the county.Don Nicolás bent low over his horse's neck, his wide gray hat clasped tohis gallant heart.

"You will forgive the emotion of a foolish old man, Miss Parker," hesaid, "but we of San Marcos County love this boy."

Other friends now came running; in a few minutes perhaps a hundred men,boys, and women had surrounded the car, struggling to get closer, vyingwith each other to greet the hero of the San Gregorio. They babbledcompliments and jocularities at him; they cheered him lustily; withhomely bucolic wit they jeered his army record because they were so proudof it, and finally they began a concerted cry of; "Speech! Speech!Speech!"

Don Mike stood up in the tonneau and removed his hat. Instantly silencesettled over the crowd, and Kay thought that she had never seen a moreperfect tribute of respect paid anyone. He spoke to them briefly, with adepth of sentiment only possible in a descendant of two of the mostsentimental races on earth; but he was not maudlin. When he hadconcluded his remarks, he repeated them in Spanish for the benefit ofthose who had never learned English very well or at all.

And now, although Kay did not understand a word of what he said, sherealized that in his mother tongue he was infinitely more tender, moretouching, more dramatic than he could possibly be in English, for hisaudience wagged approving' heads now and paid him the tribute of many afurtive tear.

Don Nicolás Sandoval rode his horse through the crowd presently andopened a path for the car.

"I'm afraid this has been a trifle embarrassing for you, Miss Parker,"Farrel remarked, as they proceeded down the street. "I shall notrecognize any more of them. I've greeted them all in general, and someday next week I'll come to town and greet them in detail. They were allglad I came back, though, weren't they?" he added, with a boy'seagerness. "Lord, but I was glad to see them!"

"I can hardly believe you are the same man I saw manhandling your enemyan hour ago," she declared.

"Oh," he replied, with a careless shrug, "fighting and loving are theonly two worth-while things in life. Park in front of the court-house,William, please."

He excused himself to Kay and ran lightly up the steps. Fifteen minuteslater, he returned.

"I have a writ of execution," he declared. "Now to find the sheriff andhave him serve it."

They located Don Nicolás Sandoval at the post-office, one leg co*cked overthe pommel of his saddle, and the El Toro Sentinel spread on his knee.

"Father's old business with the Basque, Don Nicolás," Farrel informedhim. "He has money deposited in his own name in the First National Bankof El Toro."

"I have grown old hunting that fellow's assets, Miguel, my boy," quothDon Nicolás. "If I can levy on a healthy bank-account, I shall feel thatmy life has not been lived in vain."

He folded his newspaper, uncoiled his leg from the pommel, and started upthe street at the dignified fast walk he had taught his mount. Farrelreturned to the car and, with Kay, arrived before the portals of the banka few minutes in advance of the sheriff, just in time to see AndreLoustalot leap from his automobile, dash up the broad stone steps, andfairly hurl himself into the bank.

"I don't know whether I ought to permit him to withdraw his money andhave Don Nicolás attach it on his person or not. Perhaps that would bedangerous," Miguel remarked. He stepped calmly out of the car, assistedKay to alight, and, with equal deliberation, entered the bank with thegirl.

"Now for some fun," he whispered. "Behold the meanest man inAmerica—myself!"

Loustalot was at the customers' desk writing a check to cash for hisentire balance in bank. Farrel permitted him to complete the drawing ofthe check, watched the Basque almost trot toward the paying-teller'swindow, and as swiftly trotted after him.

"All—everything!" Loustalot panted, and reached over the shoulders oftwo customers in line ahead of him. But Don Miguel Farrel's arm wasstretched forth also; his long brown fingers closed over the check andsnatched it from the Basque's hand as he murmured soothingly:

"You will have to await your turn, Loustalot. For your bad manners, Ishall destroy this check." And he tore the signature off and crumpledthe little slip of paper into a ball, which he flipped into Loustalot'sbrutal face.

The Basque stood staring at him, inarticulate with fury; Don Mike facedhis enemy with a bantering, prescient little smile. Then, with a greatsigh that was in reality a sob, Loustalot abandoned his primal impulse tohurl himself upon Farrel and attempt to throttle; instead, he ran back tothe customers' desk and started scribbling another check. Thereupon, theimpish Farrel removed the ink, and when Loustalot moved to anotherink-well, Farrel's hand closed over that. Helpless and desperate,Loustalot suddenly began to weep; uttering peculiar mewing cries, heclutched at Farrel with the fury of a gorilla. Don Mike merely dodgedround the desk, and continued to dodge until out of the tail of his eye,he saw the sheriff enter the bank and stop at the cashier's desk.Loustalot, blinded with tears of rage, failed to see Don Nicolás; he hadvision only for Don Mike, whom he was still pursuing round the customers'desk.

The instant Don Nicolás served his writ of attachment, the cashier lefthis desk, walked round in back of the various tellers' cages, and handedthe writ to the paying teller; whereupon Farrel, pretending to befrightened, ran out of the bank. Instantly, Loustalot wrote his checkand rushed again to the paying-tellers window.

"Too late, Mr. Loustalot. Your account has been attached," thatfunctionary informed him.

Meanwhile, Don Nicolás had joined his friend on the sidewalk.

"Here is his automobile, Don Nicolás," Farrel said. "I think we hadbetter take it away from him."

Don Nicolás climbed calmly into the driver's seat, filled out a blanknotice of attachment under that certain duly authorized writ which hisold friend's son had handed him, and waited until Loustalot camedejectedly down the bank steps to the side of the car; whereupon DonNicolás served him with the fatal document, stepped on the starter, anddeparted for the county garage, where the car would be stored until soldat auction.

"Who let you out of my calaboose, Loustalot?" Don Mike queried amiably.

"That high-toned Jap friend of Parker's," the Basque replied, withmalicious enjoyment.

"I'm glad it wasn't Mr. Parker. Well, you stayed there long enough toserve my purpose. By the way, your sheep are trespassing again."

"They aren't my sheep."

"Well, if you'll read that document, you'll see that all the sheep on theRancho Palomar at this date are attached, whether they belong to you ornot. Now, a word of warning to you, Loustalot: Do not come on the RanchoPalomar for any purpose whatsoever. Understand ?"

Loustalot's glance met his unflinchingly for fully ten seconds, and, inthat glance, Kay thought she detected something tigerish.

"Home, William," she ordered the driver, and they departed from El Toro,leaving Andre Loustalot standing on the sidewalk staring balefully afterthem.

They were half-way home before Don Mike came out of the reverie intowhich that glance of Loustalot's had, apparently, plunged him.

"Some day very soon," he said, "I shall have to kill that man or bekilled. And I'm sorry my guest, Mr. Okada, felt it incumbent uponhimself to interfere. If, between them, they have hurt Pablo, I shallcertainly reduce the extremely erroneous Japanese census records inCalifornia by one."

XVII

John Parker and his wife, with the unsuspecting Okada, were lingeringover a late luncheon when Kay and Don Mike entered the dining-room.

"Well, you bold Spanish cavalier, what do you mean by running away withmy little girl?" Mrs. Parker demanded.

Before Farrel could reply, Kay answered for him.

"We've had quite a wild and woolly Western adventure, mother dear.Have you seen Pablo since we left together?"

"I have," the lady replied. "He had Monsieur Loustalot in charge, andrelated to us the details of the adventure up to the moment you and Mr.Farrel left him with the prisoner while you two continued on to ElToro. What happened in El Toro?"

"Don Mike succeeded in attaching Loustalot's bank-account," Kayinformed the company. "The loot will probably amount to something overfifty thousand dollars."

"I should say that isn't a half-bad stipend to draw for your firsthalf-day pursuit of the nimble cart-wheel of commerce," Parkersuggested.

Mrs. Parker pursed her lips comically.

"The boy is clever, John. I knew it the moment I met him this morning.Felicitations, Don Miguel. John intends to strip you down to yourbirthday suit—fairly, of course—so keep up the good work, andeverything may still turn out right for you. I'll cheer for you, atany rate."

"Thank you, dear Mrs. Parker." Don Miguel slipped into his seat at thehead of the table. "I have also attached Loustalot's new automobile,"

"You Shylock! What else?" Mrs. Parker demanded eagerly.

"About ten thousand sheep, more or less. I attached these onsuspicion, although the burden of proving that Loustalot owns them willbe upon me. However," he concluded, with a bright glance at Parker, "Ibelieve that can readily be accomplished—with your aid."

"I shall be the poorest witness in the world, Mr. Farrel."

"Well, I shall see to it, Mr. Parker, that you are given an opportunityto tell the judge of the Superior Court in El Toro why Loustalot calledon you this morning, why a great band of sheep is trespassing on theRancho Palomar, why Loustalot drew a check in your favor for fiftythousand dollars, why you declined to take it, what you said toLoustalot this morning to cause him to steal one of my horses in hisanxiety to get off the ranch, why your attorneys drew up a certainlease of the grazing-privilege to Loustalot, and why the deal fellthrough."

Parker flushed.

"Can you produce that fifty-thousand-dollar check? I happen to know ithas not been cashed."

"No, I cannot, Mr. Parker."

Kay opened her purse and tossed the check across to her father.

"It was drawn in your favor, dad," she informed him; "so I concluded itwas your property, and when Mr. Farrel came by it—ah, illegally—andshowed it to me, I retained it."

"Good girl! Mr. Farrel, have you any objection to my returning thischeck?"

"Not the slightest. It has served its purpose. However, you will haveto wait until you meet Loustalot somewhere outside the boundaries ofthe Rancho Palomar, sir. I had comforted myself with the thought thathe was safe under lock and key here, but, to my vast surprise, I methim in the bank at El Toro making futile efforts to withdraw his cashbefore I could attach the account. The confounded ingrate informs methat Mr. Okada turned him loose."

There was no mistaking the disapproval in the glance which Parkerturned upon Okada.

"Is this true, Mr. Okada?"

"It is not true," Okada replied promptly. "I know nozzing about.Nozzing."

"Well, Pablo thinks it is true, Mr. Okada." Don Miguel's voice wasunruffled, his manner almost benignant. "The old man is outside, andabsolutely broken-hearted. His honor appears to be quite gone. Iimagine," Don Mike continued, with a fleeting and whimsical glance atthe potato baron, "that he has evolved some primitive plan for makinghis honor whole again. Direct methods always did appeal to Pablo."

"Mr. Farrel," John Parker began, "I regret this incident more than Ican say. I give you my word of honor I had nothing to do with itdirectly or indirectly———"

"John, for goodness' sake, old dear, give Mr. Farrel credit for somecommon sense. He knows very well you wouldn't break bread with him andthen betray him. Don't you, Mr. Farrel?" Mrs. Parker pleaded.

"Of course, Mr. Parker's assurance is wholly unnecessary, Mrs. Parker."

"Mr. Okada is leaving this afternoon," Parker hastened to assure him.

"Mr. Okada shows commendable prudence." Don Mike's tones wereexceedingly dry.

Okada rose and bowed his squinch-owl bow.

"I very sorry," he sputtered. "I zink that man Pablo one big liar.'Scuse, please; I go."

"If he hadn't called Pablo a liar," Don Mike murmured plaintively, "Ishould have permitted him to march out with the honors of war. As thematter stands now, however, I invite all of you to listen attentively.In a few minutes you're going to hear something that will remind you ofthe distant whine of a sawmill. After all, Pablo is a poor old fellowwho lives a singularly humdrum existence."

"Ah, yes; let the poor fellow have his simple little pleasures," Mrs.Parker pleaded. "'All work and no play'—you know, Don Miguel."

"My dear," Parker answered testily, "there are occasions when yoursense of humor is positively oppressive."

"Very well, John; I'll be serious." His wife turned to Farrel. "Mr.Farrel," she continued, "while you were away, I had a very bright idea.You are much too few in the family for such a large house, and itoccurred to me that you might care to lease the Palomar hacienda to usfor a year. I'm so weary of hotels and equally weary of a town house,with its social obligations and the insolence of servants—particularlycooks. John needs a year here, and we would so like to remain if itcould be arranged. Your cook, Carolina, is not the sort that leavesone's employ in the middle of a dinner-party."

"Would five hundred dollars a month for the house and the use ofCarolina and three saddle-horses interest you, Mr. Farrel? From ourconversation of this morning, I judge you have abandoned hope ofredeeming the property, and during the year of the redemption period,six thousand dollars might—ah—er———"

"Well, it would be better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,"Don Miguel replied genially. "I need the money; so I accept—but withcertain reservations. I like Carolina's cooking, too; I have a coupleof hundred head of cattle to look after, and I'd like to reserve oneroom, my place at this table, and my position as master of Palomar. Ofcourse, I'm not so optimistic as to think you folks would accept of myhospitality for a year, so I suggest that you become what our Britishcousins call 'paying guests,' albeit I had never expected to fall lowenough to make such a dastardly proposition. Really, it abases me.It's never been done before in this house."

"I declare you're the most comfortable young man to have around that Ihave ever known. Isn't he, Kay?" Mrs. Parker declared.

"I think you're very kind," the girl assured him. "And I think it willbe very delightful to be paying guests to such a host, Don Mike Farrel."

"Then it's settled," Parker announced, much relieved.

"And let us here highly resolve that we shall always be good friendsand dwell together in peace," Kay suggested.

"I made that resolve when you met me at the gate last night, MissParker. Hark! Methinks I hear a young riot. Well, we cannot possiblyhave any interest in it, and, besides, we're talking business now. Mr.Parker, there isn't the slightest hope of my earning sufficient moneyto pay the mortgage you hold against this ranch of mine, so I haveresolved to gamble for it whenever and wherever I can. You have agreedto pay me six thousand dollars, in return for which I guarantee to feedyou and your family and servants well, and house you comfortably andfurnish three saddle-horses, with saddles and bridles, for a period ofone year. Understand?"

"Understood."

Don Miguel Farrel took two dice out of his pocket and cuddled them inhis palm.

"I'll roll you the bones, one flop, twelve thousand dollars or nothing,sir," he challenged.

"But if I win———"

"You want to know if I am in a position to support you all for one yearif I lose? I am. There are cattle enough on the ranch to guaranteethat."

"Well, while these little adventures are interesting, Mr. Farrel, thefact is I've always made it a rule not to gamble."

"Listen to the hypocrite!" his wife almost shouted. "Gambled every dayof his life for twenty-five years on the New York Stock Exchange, andnow he has the effrontery to make a statement like that! John Parker,roll them bones!"

"Not to-day," he protested. "This isn't my lucky day."

"Well, it's mine," the good soul retorted. "Miguel—you'll pardon mycalling you by your first name: Miguel, but since I was bound to do sosooner or later, we'll start now—Miguel, I'm in charge of the domesticaffairs of the Parker family, and I've never known a time when thispoor tired old business man didn't honor my debts. Roll 'em, Mike, andtest your luck."

"Mother!" Kay murmured reproachfully.

"Nonsense, dear! Miguel is the most natural gentleman, the firstregular young man I've met in years. I'm for him, and I want him toknow it. Are you for me, Miguel?"

"All the way!" Don Mike cried happily,

"There!" the curious woman declared triumphantly. "I knew we weregoing to be good friends. What do I see before me? As I live, a pairof box cars."

"Mother, where did you learn such slang?" her daughter pleaded.

"From the men your non-gambling father used to bring home to play pokerand shoot craps," she almost shouted. "Well, let us see if I can rolltwo sixes and tie the score. I can! What's more, I do! Miguel, arethese dice college-bred? Ah! Old Lady Parker rolls a wretched littlepair of bull's-eyes!"

Don Miguel took the dice and rolled—a pair of deuces.

"I'm going to make big money operating a boarding-house," he informedthe lady.

"'Landlord, fill the flowing bowl until it doth flow over,'" she sanggaily. "John, you owe Miguel twelve thousand dollars, payable at therate of one thousand dollars a month for twelve months. Have yourlawyer in El Toro draw the lease this afternoon."

Parker glanced at her with a broad hint of belligerence in his keengray eyes.

"My dear," he rasped, "I wish you would take me seriously once in awhile. For twenty-five years I've tried to keep step with you, andI've failed. One of these bright days I'm going to strike."

"I recall three occasions when you went on strike, John, and refused toaccept my orders," the mischievous woman retorted sweetly. "At theconclusion of the strike, you couldn't go back to work. Miguel, threeseparate times that man has declined to cease money-making long enoughto play, although I begged him with tears in my eyes. And I'm not thecrying kind, either. And every time he disobeyed, he blew up. Miguel,he came home to me as hysterical as a high-school girl, wept on myshoulder, said he'd kill himself if he couldn't get more sleep, andthen surrendered and permitted me to take him away for six months.Strange to relate, his business got along very nicely without him. AmI not right, Kay?"

"You are, mother dear. Dad reminds me of a horse at a livery-stablefire. You rescue him from the flames, but the instant you let go hishalter-shank, he dashes into the burning barn." She winked ever soslightly at Farrel. "Thanks to you, Don Mike," she assured him,"father's claws are clipped for one year; thanks to you, again, we nowhave a nice, quiet place to incarcerate him."

Farrel could see that John Parker, while outwardly appearing to enjoythis combined attack against him, was secretly furious. And Don Mikeknew why. His pride as a business man was being cruelly lacerated; hehad foolishly crawled out on the end of a limb, and now there was aprobability, although a remote one, that Miguel Farrel would saw offthe limb before he could crawl back.

"Perhaps, Mr. Farrel," he replied, with a heroic attempt at jocularity,"you will understand now that it was not altogether a cold hard heartthat prompted me to decline your request for a renewal of the mortgagethis morning. I couldn't afford to. I had agreed to gamble onemillion dollars that you were thoroughly and effectually dead—Icouldn't see one chance in a million where this ranch would get awayfrom me."

"Well, do not permit yourself to become down-hearted, Mr. Parker," DonMike assured him whimsically. "I cannot see one chance in a millionwhere you are going to lose it."

"Thank you for the heartening effect of those words, Mr. Farrel."

"I think I understand the reason underlying all this speed, Mr. Parker.You and Okada feared that next year the people of this state will soamend their faulty anti-alien land law of 1913 that it will beimpossible for any Oriental to own or lease California land then. Soyou proceeded with your improvements during the redemption period,confident that the ranch would never be redeemed, in order that youmight be free to deal with Okada before the new law went into effect.Okada would not deal with you until he was assured the water could begotten on the land."

"Pa's thrown out at first base!" Mrs. Parker shrilled. "Poor old pa!"

Don Mike's somber black eyes flashed with mirth. "I understand now whyyou leased the hacienda and why that twelve-thousand-dollar board billhurt," he murmured. He turned to Kay and her mother. "Why the poorunfortunate man is forced to remain at the Rancho Palomar in order toprotect his bet." His thick black brows lifted piously. "Don't cheer,boys," he cried tragically; "the poor devil is going fast now! Isthere anybody present who remembers a prayer or who can sing a hymn?"

Kay's adorable face twitched as she suppressed a chuckle at herfather's expense, but now that Parker was being assailed by all three,his loyal wife decided to protect him.

"Well, Johnny's a shrewd gambler after all," she declared. "If you donot redeem the ranch, he will get odds of two and a half to one on hismillion-dollar bet and clean up in a year. With water on the lands ofthe San Gregorio, Okada's people will pay five hundred dollars an acrecash for the fifty thousand acres."

"I grant you that, Mrs. Parker, but in the meantime he will haveincreased tremendously the value of all of my land in the San Gregoriovalley, and what is to prevent me, nine months from now, from floatinga new loan rather handily, by reason of that increased valuation,paying off Mr. Parker's mortgage and garnering for myself that two anda half million dollars' profit you speak of?"

"I fear you will have to excuse us from relishing the prospect of thatjoke, Don Mike," Kay murmured.

"Work on that irrigation project will cease on Saturday evening, Mr.Farrel," Parker assured his host.

Nevertheless, Farrel observed that his manner belied his words;obviously he was ill at ease. For a moment, the glances of the two menmet; swift though that visual contact was, each read in the other'sglance an unfaltering decision. There would be no surrender.

The gay mood into which Mrs. Parker's humorous sallies had thrownFarrel relaxed; there came back to him the memory of some graves in thevalley, and his dark, strong face was somber again. Of a sudden,despite his victory of the morning, he felt old for all histwenty-eight years—old and sad and embittered, lonely, futile andhelpless.

The girl, watching him closely, saw the light die out in his face, sawthe shadows come, as when a thunder-cloud passes between the sun and asmiling valley. His chin dropped a little on his breast, and forperhaps ten seconds he was silent; by the far-away gleam in his eyes,Kay knew he was seeing visions, and that they were not happy ones.

Instinctively her hand crept round the corner of the table and touchedhis arm lightly. Her action was the result of impulse; almost as soonas she had touched him, she withdrew her hand in confusion.

But her mother had noticed the movement, and a swift glance toward herhusband drew from him the briefest of nods, the most imperceptible ofshrugs.

"Come, Johnny dear," she urged, and her voice had lost its accustomedshrillness now; "let us go forth and see what has happened to theLittle Old Man of the Spuds."

He followed her outside obediently, and arm in arm they walked aroundthe patio toward the rear gate.

"Hello!" he murmured suddenly, and, with a firm hand under her chin, hetilted her handsome face upward. There were tears in her eyes. "Whatnow?" he demanded tenderly. "How come, old girl?"

"Nothing, John, I'm just an old fool—laughing when I'm not weeping andweeping when I ought to be laughing."

XVIII

Don Mike's assumption that Pablo would seek balm for his injuredfeelings at the expense of the potato baron was one born of a veryintimate knowledge of the mental processes of Pablo and those of hisbreed. And Pablo, on that fateful day, did not disappoint his master'sexpectations. Old he was, and stiff and creaky of joint, but what helacked in physical prowess he possessed in guile. Forbidden to followhis natural inclination, which was to stab the potato baron frequentlyand fatally with a businesslike dirk which was never absent from hisperson except when he slept, Pablo had recourse to another artifice ofhis peculiar calling—to wit, the rawhide riata.

As Okada emerged from the dining-room into the patio, Pablo enteredfrom the rear gate, riata in hand; as the Japanese crossed the gardento his room in the opposite wing of the hacienda, Pablo made a deftlittle cast and dropped his loop neatly over the potato baron's body,pinioning the latter's arms securely to his sides. Keeping a stiffstrain on the riata, Pablo drew his victim swiftly toward the porch,round an upright of which he had taken a hitch; in a surprisingly briefperiod, despite the Jap's frantic efforts to release himself, Pablo hadhis man lashed firmly to the porch column, whereupon he proceeded toflog his prisoner with a heavy quirt which, throughout the operation,had dangled from his left wrist. With each blow, old Pablo tossed apleasantry at his victim, who took the dreadful scourging without anoutcry, never ceasing a dogged effort to twist loose from his bondsuntil his straining and flinching loosed the ancient rusty nails at topand bottom of the upright, and, with a crash, the Oriental fellheadlong backward on the porch, as a tree falls. Thereupon, Pablokicked him half a dozen times for good measure, and proceeded to rollhim over and over along the porch toward his room. Eventually thisprocedure unwound him from the riata; Pablo then removed the loop, andOkada staggered into his room and fell, half fainting, on his bed.

His honor now quite clean, Pablo departed from the patio. He had beenless than five minutes on his mission of vengeance, and when JohnParker and his wife came out of the dining-room, the sight of theimperturbable old majordomo unconcernedly coiling his "twine" roused inthem no apprehension as to the punishment that had overtaken Okada.

Having finished their luncheon—a singularly pleasanttête-à-tête—Don Mike and Kay joined Mr. and Mrs. Parker. At onceFarrel's glance marked the absence of the porch column.

"I declare," he announced, with mock seriousness, "a portion of myveranda has given way. I wonder if a man could have been tied do it.I heard a crash, and at the time it occurred to me that it was a heavycrash—heavier than the weight of that old porch column would produce.Mr. Parker, may I suggest that you investigate the physical conditionof our Japanese friend? He is doubtless in his room."

Parker flashed his host a quick glance, almost of resentment, and wentto Okada's room. When he returned, he said soberly:

"Pablo has beaten the little fellow into a pitiable condition. He tiedhim to that porch column and flogged him with a quirt. While I cannotdefend Okada's action in releasing Loustalot, nevertheless, Mr.Farrel—" Don Mike's black eyes burned like live coals."Nevertheless—I—well———" Parker hesitated.

Don Mike's lips were drawn a trifle in the ghost of a smile that wasnot good to see.

"I think, sir," he said softly, distinctly, and with chill suavity,"that Mr. Okada might be grateful for the services of the excellentMurray, if the potato baron is, as I shrewdly suspect he will be,leaving within five minutes."

"Good Heavens, man, I believe it will be an hour before he can walk!"

Farrel glanced critically at his wrist-watch and seemed to ponder this.

"I fear five minutes is all I can permit, sir," he replied. "If heshould be unable to walk from his room, Murray, who is the soul ofthoughtfulness, will doubtless assist him to the waiting automobile."

Five minutes later, the potato baron and the potato baron's suitcasewere lifted into the tonneau of the car by Murray and William. Fromover by the blacksmith shop, Don Mike saw Parker bid his Japaneseconfrère adieu, and as the car dipped below the mesa, Parker came overand joined them.

"Thought you were going in to El Toro this afternoon," the young mansuggested.

"I had planned to, but changed my mind after beholding that Nipponeseruin. To have driven to El Toro with him would have broken my heart."

"Never mind, pa," Mrs. Parker consoled him; "you'll have your day incourt, will you not?"

"I think he's going to have several of them," Don Mike predictedmaliciously, and immediately withdrew the sting from his words byplacing his hand in friendly fashion on Parker's shoulder and shakinghim playfully. "In the interim, however," he continued, "now that ourunwelcome guests have departed and peace has been reestablished on ElPalomar (for I hear Pablo whistling 'La Paloma' in the distance), whatreason, if any, exists why we shouldn't start right now to get some funout of life? I've had a wonderful forenoon at your expense, so I wantyou and the ladies to have a wonderful afternoon at mine." He glancedalertly from one to the other, questioningly.

"I wonder if the horses have recovered from their furious chase of thismorning," Kay ventured.

"Of course. That was merely an exercise gallop. How would you alllike to come for a ride with me over to the Agua Caliente basin?"

"Why the Agua Caliente basin?" Parker queried casually. "That's quitea distance from here, is it not?"

"About seven miles—fourteen over and back. Suppose William followswith the car after his return from El Toro. You can then ride backwith him, and I'll bring the horses home. I realize fourteen miles istoo great a distance for inexperienced riders."

"Isn't that going to considerable trouble?" Parker suggested suavely."Suppose we ride down the valley. I prefer flat land to rollingcountry when I ride."

"No game down that way," Farrel explained patiently. "We'll take thehounds and put something up a tree over Caliente Basin way before weget back. Besides, I have a great curiosity to inspect the dam you'rebuilding and the artesian wells you're drilling over in that country."

"Confound you, Farrel! You realized the possibilities of that basin,then?"

"Years ago. The basin comes to a bottle-neck between two high hills;all you have to do is dam that narrow gorge, and when the Rio SanGregorio is up and brimming in freshet time, you'll have a lake ahundred feet deep, a mile wide, and five miles long before you know it.Did you ever consider the possibility of leading a ditch from the lakethus formed along the shoulder of El Palomar, thatforty-five-hundred-foot peak for which the ranch is named, and givingit a sixty-five-per-cent. nine-hundred-foot drop to a snug littlepower-station at the base of the mountain. You could develop thirty orforty thousand horse-power very easily and sell it easier; after yourwater had passed through the penstock and delivered its power, youcould run it off through a lateral to the main ditch down the SanGregorio and sell it to your Japanese farmers for irrigation."

"By Jupiter, I believe you would have done something with this ranch ifyou had had the backing, Farrel!"

"Never speculated very hard on securing the backing," Don Mikeadmitted, with a frank grin. "We always lived each day as if it werethe last, you know. But over in Siberia, far removed from all myeasy-going associations, both inherited and acquired, I commenceddreaming of possibilities in the Agua Caliente basin."

"Well then, since you insist, let's go over there and have yourcuriosity satiated," Parker agreed, with the best grace possible.

While the Parkers returned to the hacienda to change into theirriding-clothes, Miguel Farrel strolled over to the corral where PabloArtelan, wearing upon his leathery countenance the closest imitation ofa smile that had ever lighted that dark expanse, joined him and, withFarrel, leaned over the corral fence and gazed at the horses within.For a long time, neither spoke; then, while his glance still appraisedthe horses, Don Mike stiffened a thumb and drove it with considerableforce into Pablo's ancient ribs. Carolina, engaged in hanging out theParker wash in the yard of her casa, observed Don Mike bestow thisinfrequent accolade of approbation and affection, and her heart swelledwith pride. Ah, yes; it was good to have the child back on the ranchoagain.

Carolina and Pablo had never heard that the ravens fed Elijah; they hadnever heard of Elijah. Nevertheless, if they had, they would not haveenvied him the friendship of those divinely directed birds, for theFarrels had always fed Pablo and Carolina and their numerous brood, nowraised and scattered over the countryside. At sight of that prod inthe ribs, Carolina dismissed forever a worry that had troubled hervaguely during the period between old Don Miguel's death and the returnof young Don Miguel—the fear that a lifetime of ease and plenty hadended. Presently, she lifted a falsetto voice in a Spanish love-songtwo centuries old.

I await the morrow, Niña mia,
I await the morrow, all through the night,
For the entrancing music and dancing
With thee, my song-bird, my heart's delight.
Come dance, my Niña, in thy mantilla,
Think of our love and do not say no;
Hasten then my treasure, grant me this pleasure,
Dance then tomorrow the bolero!

Over at the corral, Pablo rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and permitteda thin film of smoke to trickle through his nostrils. He, too, wascontent.

"Carolina," he remarked presently, in English, "is happy to beat hell."

"I haven't any right to be, but, for some unknown reason, I'm feelinggay myself," his master replied.

He started toward the harness-room to get the saddle for Panchito, andPablo lingered a moment at the fence, gazing after him curiously.Could it be possible that Don Miguel José Maria Federico Noriaga Farrelhad, while sojourning in the cold land of the bewhiskered men, lost amodicum of that particularity with women which had formerlydistinguished him in the eyes of his humble retainers?

"Damn my soul eef I don't know sometheeng!" Pablo muttered, andfollowed for a saddle for the gray gelding.

XIX

When the Parkers emerged from the hacienda, they found Don Mike and Pabloholding the horses and waiting for them. Kay wore a beautifully tailoredriding-habit of dark unfinished material, shot with a faint admixture ofgray; her boots were of shining black undressed leather, and she wore apair of little silver-mounted spurs, the sight of which caused Pablo toexchange sage winks with his master. Her white-piqué stock was fastenedby an exquisite little cameo stick-pin; from under the brim of ablack-beaver sailor-hat, set well down on her head, her wistful browneyes looked up at Don Mike, and caught the quick glance of approval withwhich he appraised her, before turning to her mother.

"The black mare for you, Mrs. Parker," he suggested. "She's a regularold sweetheart and single-foots beautifully. I think you'll find thatstock-saddle a far more comfortable seat than the saddle Miss Kay isusing."

"I know I'm not as light and graceful as I used to be, Mike," the amiablesoul assured him, "but it irks me to have men notice it. You mighthave given me an opportunity to decline Kay's saddle. There is such athing as being too thoughtful, you know."

"Mother!" Kay cried reproachfully.

Don Mike blushed, even while he smiled his pleasure at the lady'sbadinage. She observed this.

"You're a nice boy, Michael," she murmured, for his ear alone. "Why, youold-fashioned young rascal!"—as Don Mike stooped and held out his hand.She placed her left foot in it and was lifted lightly into the saddle.When he had adjusted the stirrups to fit her, he turned to aid Kay, onlyto discover that the gallant Panchito had already performed the honorsfor that young lady by squatting until she could reach the stirrupwithout difficulty.

Parker rode the gray horse, and Farrel had appropriated a pinto cow ponythat Pablo used when line-riding.

With the hounds questing ahead of them, the four jogged up the SanGregorio, Don Mike leading the way, with Kay riding beside him. Fromtime to time she stole a sidelong glance at him, riding with his chin onhis breast, apparently oblivious of her presence. She knew that he wasnot in a mood to be entertaining to-day, to be a carefree squire ofdames; his mind was busy grappling with problems that threatened not onlyhim but everything in life that he held to be worth while.

"Do we go through that gate?" the girl queried, pointing to a five-railgate in a wire fence that straggled across the valleys and up thehillside.

He nodded.

"Of course you do not have to go through it," he teased her. "Panchitocan go over it. Pie for him. About five feet and a half."

"Enough for all practical purposes," she replied, and touched herridiculous little spurs to the animal's flank, took a firm grip on thereins with both hands, and sat down firmly in the saddle. "All right,boy!" she cried, and, at the invitation, Panchito pricked up his ears andbroke into an easy canter, gradually increasing his speed and taking thegate apparently without effort. Don Mike watched to see the girl riseabruptly in her seat as the horse came down on the other side of thegate. But no! She was still sitting down in the saddle, her littlehands resting lightly on the horse's neck; and while Farrel watched herin downright admiration and her mother sat, white and speechless on theblack mare, Kay galloped ahead a hundred yards, turned, and came backover the gate again.

"Oh, isn't he a darling?" she cried. "He pulls his feet up under himlike a dog, when he takes off. I want to take him over a seven-foothurdle. He can do it with yours truly up. Let's build a seven-foothurdle to-morrow and try him out."

"Fine! We'll build it," Don Mike declared enthusiastically, and Parker,watching his wife's frightened face, threw back his head and laughed.

"You are encouraging my daughter to kill herself," the older womancharged Farrel. "Kay, you tomboy, do not jump that gate again! Supposethat horse should stumble and throw you."

"Nonsense, mother. That's mere old hop-Scotch for Panchito. One doesn'tget a jumping-jack to ride every day, and all I've ever done has been topuss*foot through Central Park."

"Do you mean to tell me you've never taken a hurdle before?" Don Mikewas scandalized. She nodded.

"She'll do," Parker assured him proudly.

Farrel confirmed this verdict with a nod and opened the gate. They rodethrough. Kay waited for him to close the gate. He saw that she hadbeen, captivated by Panchito, and as their glances met, his smile was areflection of hers—a smile thoroughly and childishly happy.

"If you'd only sell him to me, Don Mike," she pleaded. "I'll give you aruinous price for him."

"He is not for sale, Miss Kay."

"But you were going to give him away to your late battery commander!"

He held up his right hand with the red scar on the back of it, but madeno further reply.

"Why will you not sell him to me?" she pleaded. "I want him so."

"I love him," he answered at that, "and I could only part with him—forlove. Some day, I may give him to somebody worth while, but for thepresent I think I shall be selfish and continue to own him. He's a big,powerful animal, and if he can carry weight in a long race, he's fastenough to make me some money."

"Let me ride him in the try-out," she pleaded. "I weigh just a hundredand twenty."

"Very well. To-morrow I'll hitch up a work-team, and disk the heart outof our old race-track— Oh, yes; we have such a thing"—in reply to herlifted brows. "My grandfather Mike induced my great-grandfather Noriagato build it way back in the 'Forties. The Indians and vaqueros used torun scrub races in those days—in fact, it was their main pastime."

"Where is this old race-track?"

"Down in the valley. A fringe of oaks hides it. It's grass-grown and ithasn't been used in twenty-five years, except when the Indians in thispart of the country foregather in the valley occasionally and pull offsome scrub races."

"How soon can we put it in commission?" she demanded eagerly,

"I'll disk it to-morrow. The ground is soft now, after this recent rain.Then I'll harrow it well and run a culti-packer over it—well, by the endof the week it ought to be a fairly fast track."

"Goody! We'll go in to El Toro to-morrow and I'll wire to San Franciscofor a stop-watch. May I sprint Panchito a little across that meadow?"

"Wait a moment, Miss Kay. We shall have something to sprint after in afew minutes, I think." As the hounds gave tongue in a path of willowsthey had been investigating far to the right, Don Mike pulled up hishorse and listened. "Hot trail," he informed her. "They'll all bebabbling in a moment."

He was right.

"If it's a coyote, he'll sneak up the wash of the river," he informed thegirl, "but if it's a cat, he'll cut through that open space to tree inthe oaks beyond—Ha! There goes a mountain-lion. After him!"

His alert pony went from a halt to a gallop, following a long, lithetawny animal that loped easily into view, coming from the distant willowthicket. In an instant, Kay was beside him.

"Head him off," he commanded curtly. "This ruin of Pablo's is done in aquarter-mile dash, but Panchito can outrun that cat without trying.Don't be afraid of him. They're cowardly brutes. Get between him andthe oaks and turn him back to me. Ride him down! He'll dodge out ofyour way."

She saw that he was uncoiling his riata as he spoke, and divined hispurpose, as, with a cluck and a boot to Panchito, she thundered after thebig cat, her heart thumping with mingled fear and excitement. Evidentlythis was an old game to Panchito, however, for he pinned his ears alittle and headed straight for the quarry. Seemingly he knew what wasexpected of him, and had a personal interest in the affair, for as hecame up to the animal, he attempted to run the panther down. The animalmerely snarled and gave ground, while gradually Panchito "hazed" himuntil the frightened creature was headed at right angles to the course hehad originally pursued. And now Don Mike, urging the pinto to top speed,came racing up and cut him off.

"Catch him; catch him!" Kay screamed excitedly. "Don't let him getaway!" She drove Panchito almost on top of the panther, and forced thebeast to stop suddenly and dodge toward the approaching Farrel. AsPanchito dashed by, Kay had a glimpse of Don Mike riding in, his loopedriata swinging in wide, slow concentric circles—casually, even. As shebrought Panchito round on his nimble heels, she saw Don Mike rise in hisstirrups and throw.

Even as the loop left his hand, he appeared to have no doubt of theoutcome, for Kay saw him make a quick turn of his rope round the pommelof his saddle, whirl at a right angle, and, with a whoop of pure,unadulterated joy, go by her at top speed, dragging the panther behindhim. The loop had settled over the animal's body and been drawn tautaround his loins.

Suddenly the pinto came to an abrupt pause, sliding on his haunches toavoid a tiny arroyo, too wide for him to leap. The strain on the riatawas thus momentarily slackened, permitting the big cat to scramble to allfours and turn to investigate this trap into which he had fallen.Instantly he charged, spitting and open-mouthed, and, for some unknownreason, Farrel led the screaming fury straight toward Kay and Panchito.The cat realized this, also, for suddenly he decided that Panchitooffered the best opportunity to vent his rage, and changed his courseaccordingly. Quick as he did so, Farrel whirled his pinto in theopposite direction, with the result that the panther left the ground witha jerk and was dragged through the air for six feet before strikingheavily upon his back. He was too dazed to struggle while Farrel draggedhim through the grass and halted under a lone sycamore. While the badlyshaken cat was struggling to his feet and swaying drunkenly, Farrelpassed the end of his riata over a limb, took a new hitch on his pommel,and ran out, drawing the screaming, clawing animal off the ground untilhe swung, head down, the ripping chisels on his front paws tearing thegrass up in great tufts.

The pinto, a trained roping horse, stood, blown and panting, his feetbraced, keeping the rope taut while Farrel dismounted and casuallystrolled back to the tree. He broke off a small twig and waited, whilethe hounds, belling lustily, came nosing across the meadow. Kay rode up,as the dogs, catching sight of the helpless cat, quickened their speed toclose in; she heard Farrel shout to them and saw him lay about him withthe twig, beating the eager animals back from their still dangerous prey.

Mr. and Mrs. Parker had, in the meantime, galloped up and stood by,interested spectators, while Don Mike searched round until he found ahard, thick, dry, broken limb from the sycamore.

"This certainly is my day for making money," he announced gaily. "Here'swhere I put thirty dollars toward that three-hundred-thousand-dollarmortgage." He stepped up to the lion and stunned it with a blow over thehead, after which he removed the riata from the creature's loins, slippedthe noose round the cat's neck, and hoisted the unconscious brute clearof the ground.

"Now then," he announced cheerfully, "we'll just leave this fellow tocontemplate the result of a life of shame. He shall hang by the neckuntil he is dead—dead—dead! We'll pick him up on our way back, andto-night I'll skin him. Fall in, my squad! On our way."

"Do you do that sort of thing very often, Mr. Farrel?" Parker queried.

"Life is a bit dull out here, sir. Any time the dogs put up a panther inthe open, we try to rope him and have a little fun. This is the firstone I have roped alone, however. I always did want to rope a panther allby myself. Ordinarily, I would not have told Miss Kay to head that catin toward me, but, then, she didn't flunk the gate back yonder, and I hada great curiosity to see if she'd flunk the cat. She didn't and"—heturned toward her with beaming, prideful eyes—"if I were out of debt, Iwouldn't trade my friendship with a girl as game as you, Kay, for theentire San Gregorio valley. You're a trump."

"You're rather a Nervy Nat yourself, aren't you?" her droll mother struckin. "As a Christian martyr, you would have had the Colosseum toyourself; every tiger and lion in Rome would have taken to the talltimber when you came on."

As he rode ahead, chuckling, to join her daughter, Farrel knew that atall events he had earned the approval of the influential member of theParker family. Mrs. Parker, on her part, was far more excited than hercolloquial humor indicated.

"John," she whispered, "did you notice it?"

"Notice what?"

"I don't know why I continue to live with you—you're so dull! In hisexcitement, he just called her 'Kay.' Last night, when they met, she was'Miss Parker.' At noon to-day, she was 'Miss Kay' and now she's plain'Kay.'" A cloud crossed his brow, but he made no answer, so, woman-like,she pressed for one. "Suppose our daughter should fall in love with thisyoung man?"

"That would be more embarrassing than ever, from a business point ofview," he admitted, "and the Lord knows this fellow has me worried enoughalready. He's no mean antagonist."

"That's what the panther probably thought, John."

"His decoration, and that stunt—dazzling to the average girl," hemuttered.

"In addition to his good looks, exquisite manners, and, I am quitecertain, very high sense of honor and lofty ideals," she supplemented.

"In that event, it is more than probable that a consideration of hisdesperate financial strait will preclude his indicating any livelyinterest in Kay." Parker glanced anxiously at his wife, as if seeking inher face confirmation of a disturbing suspicion. "At least, that wouldbe in consonance with the high sense of honor and lofty ideals with whichyou credit him. However, we must remember that he has a dash of Latinblood, and my experience has been that not infrequently the Latinos highsense of honor and lofty idealism are confined to lip-service only. Iwonder if he'd be above using Kay as a gun to point at my head."

"I'm quite certain that he would, John. Even if he should becomeinterested in her for her own sake, he would, of course, realize that thegenuineness of his feeling would be open to suspicion by—well, mostpeople, who comprehend his position—and I doubt very much if, underthese circ*mstances, he will permit himself to become interested in her."

"He may not be able to help himself. Kay gets them all winging."

"Even so, he will not so far forget his ancestral pride as to admit it,or even give the slightest intimation of it."

"He is a prideful sort of chap. I noticed that. Still, he's not a prig."

"He has pride of race, John. Pride of ancestry, pride of tradition,pride of an ancient, undisputed leadership in his own community. He hasbeen raised to know that he is not vulgar or stupid or plebeian; hischaracter has been very carefully cultivated and developed."

He edged his horse close to hers.

"Look here, my dear," he queried; "what brought the tears to your eyes atluncheon to-day?"

"There was a moment, John, when the shadow of a near-break came over hisface. Kay and I both saw it. He looked wistful and lonely and beaten,and dropped his head like a tired horse, and her heart, her very soul,went out to him. I saw her hand go out to him, too; she touched his armfor an instant and then, realizing, she withdrew it. And then I knew!"

"Knew what?"

"That our little daughter, who has been used to queening it over everyman of her acquaintance, is going to batter her heart out against thepride of Palomar."

"You mean———"

"She loves him. She doesn't know it yet, but I do. Oh, John, I'm oldand wise. I know! If Miguel Farrel were of a piece with the young menshe has always met, I wouldn't worry. But he's so absolutelydifferent—so natural, so free from that atrocious habit of never beingable to disassociate self from the little, graceful courtesies young menshow women. He's wholesome, free from ego, from that intolerable air ofproprietorship, of masculine superiority and co*cksureness that seems soinseparable from the young men in her set."

"I agree with you, my dear. Many a time I have itched to grasp thejaw-bone of an ass and spoil a couple of dozen of those young pups withtheir story-book notions of life."

"Now, that Don Mike," she continued critically, "is thoughtful of andvery deferential to those to whom deference is due, which characteristic,coupled with the fact that he is, in a certain sense, a most patheticfigure at this time, is bound to make a profound impression on any girlof ready sympathy. And pity is akin to love."

"I see," Parker nodded sagely. "Then you think he'll go down to defeatwith his mouth shut?"

"I'm certain of it, John."

"On the other hand, if he should succeed in sending me down to defeat,thereby regaining his lost place in the sun, he might—er—"

"Let us be practical, John. Let us call a spade a spade. If he regainsthe Rancho Palomar, his thoughts will inevitably turn to the subject of amistress for that old hacienda. He has pride of race, I tell you, and hewould be less than human if he could contemplate himself as the last ofthat race.

"John, he did not capture that panther alive a few moments ago merely tobe spectacular. His underlying reason was the thirty-dollar bounty onthe pelt and the salvation of his cattle. And he did not capture thatBasque this morning and extort justice, long-delayed, with any thoughtthat by so doing he was saving his principality for a stranger. He willnot fight you to a finish for that."

"What a philosopher you're getting to be, my dear!" he parriedironically. And, after a pause, "Well, I see very clearly that if yourpredictions come to pass, I shall be as popular in certain circles as theproverbial wet dog."

Her roguish eyes appraised him.

"Yes, John; you're totally surrounded now. I suppose, when you realizethe enormity of the odds against you, you'll do the decent thingand———"

"Renew his mortgage? Not in a million years!" Parker's voice carried astrident note of finality, of purpose inflexible, and he thumped thepommel of his saddle thrice in emphasis. He was a man who, althoughnormally kind and amiable, nevertheless reserved these qualities for useunder conditions not connected with the serious business of profiting byanother's loss. Quite early in life he had learned to say "No." Hepreferred to say it kindly and amiably, but none the less forcibly; somemen had known him to say it in a manner singularly reminiscent of thelow, admonitory growl of a fierce old dog.

"But, John dear, why are we accumulating all this wealth? Is not Kay oursole heir? Is not———"

"Do not threaten me with Kay," he interrupted irritably. "I play my gameaccording to the time-honored rules of that game. I do not ask forquarter, and I shall not give it. I'm going to do all in my power toacquire the Rancho Palomar under that mortgage I hold—and I hope thatyoung man gives me a bully fight. That will make the operation all themore interesting.

"My dear, the continuous giving of one more chance to the Farrels hasproved their undoing. They first mortgaged part of the ranch in 1870;when the mortgage fell due, they executed a new note plus the accruedinterest and mortgaged more of the ranch. Frequently they paid theinterest and twice they paid half the principal, bidding for one morechance and getting it. And all these years they have lived like feudalbarons on their principal, living for to-day, reckless of to-morrow.Theirs has been the history of practically all of the old Californiafamilies. I am convinced it would be no kindness to Don Miguel to givehim another chance now; his Spanish blood would lull him to ease andforgetfulness; he would tell himself he would pay the mortgage mañana.By giving him another chance, I would merely remove his incentive tohustle and make good."

"But it seems so cruel, John, to take such a practical view of thesituation. He cannot understand your point of view and he will regardyou as another Shylock."

"Doubtless," he replied; "nevertheless, if we are ever forced to regardhim as a prospective son-in-law, it will be comforting to know that evenif he lost, he made me extend myself. He is a man and a gentleman, and Ilike him. He won me in the first minute of our acquaintance. That iswhy I decided to stand pat and see what he would do." Parker leaned overand laid his hand on that of his wife. "I will not play the bully'spart, Kate," he promised her. "If he is worth a chance he will get it,but I am not a human Christmas tree. He will have to earn it." After asilence of several seconds he added, "Please God he will whip me yet.His head is bloody but unbowed. It would be terrible to spoil him."

XX

Miguel Farrel pulled up his pinto on the brow of a hill which, alongthe Atlantic seaboard, would have received credit for being a mountain,and gazed down into the Agua Caliente basin. Half a mile to his right,the slope dipped into a little saddle and then climbed abruptly to theshoulder of El Palomar, the highest peak in San Marcos County. Thesaddle was less than a hundred yards wide, and through the middle of ita deep arroyo had been eroded by the Rio San Gregorio tumbling downfrom the hills during the rainy season. This was the only outlet tothe Agua Caliente basin, and Don Mike saw at a glance that Parker'sengineers had discovered this, for squarely in the outlet a dozentwo-horse teams were working, scraping out the foundation for the hugeconcrete dam for which Parker had contracted. Up the side of ElPalomar peak, something that resembled a great black snake had beenstretched, and Farrel nodded approvingly as he observed it.

"Good idea, that, to lay a half-mile of twelve-inch steel pipe up tothat limestone deposit," he remarked to Parker, who had reined hishorse beside Don Mike's. "Only way to run your crushed rock down tothe concrete mixer at the dam-site. You'll save a heap of money ondelivering the rock, at any rate. Who's your contractor, Mr. Parker?"

"A man named Conway."

"Old Bill Conway, of Santa Barbara?"

"The same, I believe," Parker replied, without interest.

"Great old chap, Bill! One of my father's best friends, although hewas twenty years younger than dad. He must feel at home on the RanchoPalomar."

Mrs. Parker could not refrain from asking why.

"Well, ever since Bill Conway was big enough to throw a leg over ahorse and hold a gun to his shoulder, he's been shooting deer and quailand coursing coyotes on this ranch. Whenever he felt the down-hilldrag, he invited himself up to visit us. Hello! Why, I believe theold horse-thief is down there now; at least that's his automobile. I'dknow that ruin anywhere. He bought it in 1906, and swears he's goingto wear it out if it takes a lifetime. Let's go down and see whatthey're up to there. Come on, folks!" And, without waiting to seewhether or not he was followed, he urged the pinto over the crest androde down the hillside at top speed, whooping like a wild Indian toattract the attention of Bill Conway. In a shower of weeds and gravelthe pinto slid on his hind quarters down over the cut-bank where thegrading operations had bitten into the hillside, and landed with agrunt among the teams and scrapers.

"Bill Conway! Front and center!" yelled the master of Palomar.

"Here! What's the row?" a man shouted, and, from a temporary shackoffice a hundred yards away, a man stepped out.

"What do you mean by cutting into my dam-site without my permission?"Farrel yelled and drove straight at the contractor. "Hey, there, oldsettler! Mike Farrel, alive and kicking!" He left the saddle whilethe pinto was still at a gallop, landed on his feet in front of BillConway and took that astounded old disciple of dump-wagon and scraperin a bearlike embrace.

"Miguel! You young scoundrel!" Conway yelled, and forthwith he beatFarrel between the shoulder-blades with a horny old fist and cursed himlovingly.

"Cut out the profanity, Mr. Conway," Don Mike warned him. "Some ladiesare about due on the job."

"When'd you light in the Palomar, boy? Gimme your hand. Whatthe—say, ain't it a pity the old man couldn't have lasted until yougot back? Ain't it, now, son?"

"A very great pity, Mr. Conway. I got home last night."

"Boy, I'm glad to see you. Say, you ran into surprises, didn't you?"he added, lowering his voice confidentially.

"Rather. But, then, so did the other fellow. In fact, sir, a verypleasant time was had by all. By the way, I hope you're not deludingyourself with the belief that I'm going to pay you for building thisdam."

"By Judas priest," the alert old contractor roared, "you certainly dofile a bill of complications! I'll have to see Parker about this rightaway—why, here he is now."

The Parkers had followed more decorously than had Farrel; nevertheless,they had arrived in more or less of a hurry. John Parker rode directlyto Conway and Farrel.

"Well, Mr. Conway," he shouted pleasantly, "the lost sheep is foundagain."

"Whereat there is more rejoicing in San Marcos County than there willbe over the return of some other sheep—and a few goats—I know of.How do you do, Mr. Parker?" Conway extended his hand, and, as Kay andher mother rode up, Farrel begged their permission to present him tothem. Followed the usual commonplaces of introduction, which Farrelpresently interrupted.

"Well, you confounded old ditch-digger! How about you?"

"Still making little rocks out of big ones, son. Say, Mr. Parker, howdo we stack up on this contract, now that Little Boy Blue is back onthe Palomar, blowing his horn?"

Parker strove gallantly to work up a cheerful grin.

"Oh, he's put a handful of emery dust in my bearings, confound him, Mr.Conway! It begins to look as if I had leaped before looking."

"Very reprehensible habit, Mr. Parker. Well—I'm getting so old andworthless nowadays that I make it a point to look before I leap. Mike,my son, do you happen to be underwriting this contract?"

Don Mike looked serious. He pursed his lips, arched his brows, drewsome bills and small coins from his pocket, and carefully counted them.

"The liquid assets of the present owner of that dirt you're making sofree with, Mr. Conway, total exactly sixty-seven dollars and ninecents. And I never thought the day would come when a pair of old-timeCalifornians like us would stoop to counting copper pennies. Before Ijoined the army, I used to give them away to the cholo children, andwhen there were no youngsters handy to give the pennies to, I used tothrow them away."

"Yes," Bill Conway murmured sadly. "And I remember the roar that wentup from the old-timers five years ago when the Palace Hotel in SanFrancisco reduced the price of three fingers of straight whisky fromtwenty-five cents to fifteen. Boy, they're crowding us out."

"Who's been doing most of the crowding in San Marcos County while I'vebeen away, Mr. Conway?" Farrel queried innocently.

"Japs, my son. Say, they're comin' in here by the ship-load."

"You don't tell me! Why, two years ago there wasn't a Jap in SanMarcos County with the exception of a couple of shoemakers and awindow-washing outfit in El Toro."

"Well, those hombres aren't mending shoes or washing windows any more,Miguel. They saved their money and now they're farming—garden-truckmostly. There must be a thousand Japanese in the county now—allfarmers or farm-laborers. They're leasing and buying every acre offertile land they can get hold of."

"Have they acquired much acreage?"

"Saw a piece in the El Toro Sentinel last week to the effect that ninethousand and twenty acres have been alienated to the Japs up to thefirst of the year. Nearly all the white men have left La Questa valleysince the Japs discovered they could raise wonderful winter celerythere."

"But where do these Japanese farmers come from, Mr. Conway?" Parkerinquired. "They do not come from Japan because, under the gentlemen'sagreement, Japan restricts emigration of her coolie classes."

"Well, now," Bill Conway began judicially. "I'll give Japan thebenefit of any doubts I have as to the sincerity with which sheenforces this gentlemen's agreement. The fact remains, however, thatshe does not restrict emigration to Mexico, and, unfortunately, we havean international boundary a couple of thousand miles long andstretching through a sparsely settled, brushy country. To guard oursouthern boundary in such an efficient manner that no Jap couldpossibly secure illegal entry to the United States via the line, wewould have to have sentries scattered at hundred-yard intervals andcloser than that on dark nights. The entire standing army of theUnited States would be required for the job. In addition to thehandicap of this unprotected boundary, we have a fifteen-hundred-milecoast-line absolutely unguarded. Japanese fishermen bring theirnationals up from the Mexican coast in their trawlers and set themashore on the southern California coast. At certain times of the year,any landlubber can land through the surf at low tide; in fact,ownerless skiffs are picked up on the south-coast beaches rightregularly."

"Well, you can't blame the poor devils for wanting to come to thiswonderful country, Mr. Conway. It holds for them opportunities fargreater than in their own land."

"True, Mr. Parker. But their gain is our loss, and, as a matter ofcommon sense, I fail to see why we should accord equal opportunity toan unwelcome visitor who enters our country secretly and illegally. Igrant you it would prove too expensive and annoying to make a firmeffort to stop this illegal immigration by preventive measures alongour international boundary and coast-line, but if we destroy the Jap'sopportunity for profit at our expense, we will eliminate the mainincentive for his secret and illegal entry, which entry is always veryexpensive. I believe seven hundred and fifty dollars is themarket-price for smuggling Japs and Chinamen into the United States ofAmerica."

"But we should take steps to discover these immigrants after theysucceed in making entry———"

"Rats!" the bluff old contractor interrupted. "How are we going to dothat under present conditions? The cry of the country is for economyin governmental affairs, so Congress prunes the already woefullyinadequate appropriation for the Department of Labor and keeps ourforce of immigration inspectors down to the absolute minimum. Theseinspectors are always on the job; the few we have are splendid, loyalservants of the government, and they prove it by catching Japs,Chinamen, and Hindus every day in the week. But for every illegalentrant they apprehend, ten escape and are never rounded up. Confoundthem; they all look alike, anyhow! How are you going to distinguishone Jap from another?

"Furthermore, Mr. Parker, you must bear this fact in mind: The countryat large is not interested in the problem of Oriental immigration. Ithasn't thought about it; it doesn't know anything about it except whatthe Japs have told it, and a Jap is the greatest natural-born liar andpurveyor of half-truths and sugar-coated misinformation this world hasknown."

"Easy, old timer!" Don Mike soothed, laying his hand on Conway'sshoulder. "Don't let your angry passions rise."

Conway grinned.

"I always fly into a rage when I get talking about Japs," he explaineddeprecatingly to the ladies. "And it's such a helpless, hopeless rage.There's no outlet for it. You see," he began all over again, "thedratted Jap propagandist is so smart—he's so cunning that he hascapitalized the fact that California was the first state to protestagainst the Japanese invasion. He has made the entire country believethat this is a dirty little local squabble of no consequence to ourcountry at large. He keeps the attention of forty-seven states onCalifornia while he quietly proceeds to colonize Oregon, Washington,and parts of Utah. Lately he has passed blithely over the hot,lava-strewn, and fairly non-irrigated state of Arizona to the morefertile agricultural lands of Texas. And yet a couple of hundred prizeboobs in Congress talk sagely about an amicable settlement of the Japproblem in California! When they want information, they consult theJapanese ambassador!"

"But why," Kay ventured to ask, "do the Japanese not acquireagricultural lands in the Middle West? There are no restrictions inthose states in the matter of outright purchases of land, and surelythe soil is fertile enough to suit the most exacting Jap."

"Ah, young lady," Bill Conway boomed. "I'm glad you asked me thatquestion. The Jap is a product of the temperate zone; he does not takekindly to extremes of heat and cold. Unlike the white man he cannotstand such extremes and function with efficiency. That's why theextreme northern part of Japan, which is very cold in winter, is sosparsely populated, although excellent agricultural land. Why freezeto death up there when, by merely following the Japan Current as itlaves the west coast of North America from British Columbia down, onecan, in a pinch, dispense with an overcoat in January?"

"Enough of this anti-Japanese propaganda of yours, Señor Conway," DonMike interrupted. "Our friends here haven't listened to anything elsesince I got home last night. Mr. Parker, being quite ignorant of thereal issue, has, of course, fallen under the popular delusion; and I'vebeen trying my best to lead him to the mourner's bench, to convince himthat when he acquires the Rancho Palomar—which, by the way, will notbe for at least a year, now that I've turned up to nullify his judgmentof foreclosure—that it will be a far more patriotic action on hispart, even if less profitable, to colonize the San Gregorio with whitemen instead of Japs. In fact, Mr. Parker, I wouldn't be surprised ifyou should succeed in putting through a very profitable deal with thestate of California to colonize the valley with ex-soldiers."

Old Bill Conway turned upon John Parker a smoldering gaze.

"So I'm building a dam to irrigate a lot of Jap truck-gardens, am I?"he rumbled.

The sly, ingenious manner in which Miguel Farrel had so innocentlycontrived to strew his already rough path with greater obstacles,infuriated Parker, and for an instant he lost control of himself.

"What do you care what it's for, Conway, provided you make your profitout of the contract?" he demanded brusquely.

"Ladies," the contractor replied, turning to Mrs. Parker and Kay, "Itrust you will pardon me for discussing business in your presence justfor a minute. Miguel, am I to understand that this ranch is stillFarrel property?"

"You bet! And for a year to come."

"Then I gather that Mr. Parker has contracted with me to build a dam onyour land and without your approval. Am I right?"

"You are, Mr. Conway. I am not even contemplating giving my approvalto the removal of another scraper of dirt from that excavation."

Conway faced Parker.

"Am I to continue operations?" he demanded. "I have acost-plus-fifteen-per-cent. contract with you, Mr. Parker, and if youare not going to be in position to go through with it, I want to knowit now."

"In the absence of Mr. Farrel's permission, I have no alternative saveto ask you to suspend operations, Mr. Conway," Parker answeredbitterly. "I expect, of course, to settle with you for the abruptcancellation of the contract, but I believe we are both reasonable menand that no difficulty will arise in that direction."

"I'm naturally disappointed, Mr. Parker. I have a good crew and I liketo keep the men busy—-particularly when good men are as hard toprocure as they are nowadays. However, I realize your predicament, andI never was a great hand to hit a man when he was down."

"Thank you, Mr. Conway. If you will drop in at the ranch-houseto-morrow for dinner, we can put you up for the night, I dare say." Heglanced at Farrel, who nodded. "We can then take up the matter ofcompensation for the cancelled contract."

"In the meantime, then, I might as well call the job off and stop theexpense," Conway suggested. "We'll load up the equipment and pull outin the morning."

"Why be so precipitate, Mr. Conway?" Don Mike objected, almostfiercely. "You always were the most easy-going, tender-hearted oldscout imaginable, and that's why you've never been able to afford a newautomobile. Now, I have a proposition to submit to you, Mr. Conway,and inasmuch as it conflicts radically with Mr. Parker's interests, Ifeel that common courtesy to him indicates that I should voice thatproposition in his presence. With the greatest good will in lifetoward each other, nevertheless we are implacable opponents. Mr.Parker has graciously spread, face up on the table for my inspection,an extremely hard hand to beat; so now it's quite in order for me tospring my little joker and try to take the odd trick. Mr. Conway, Iwant you to do something for me. Not for my sake or the sake of mydead father, who was a good friend of yours, but for the sake of thisstate where we were both born and which we love because it issymbolical of the United States. I want you to stand pat and refuse tocancel this contract. Insist on going through with it and make Mr.Parker pay for it. He can afford it, and he is good for it. He willnot repudiate a promise to pay while he has money in bank or securitiesto hypothecate. He is absolutely responsible financially. He owns acontrolling interest in the First National Bank of El Toro, and he hasa three-hundred-thousand-dollar equity in this ranch in the shape of afirst mortgage ripe for foreclosure—you can levy on those assets if hedeclines to go through with the contract. Force him to go through;force him, old friend of my father and mine and enemy of all Japanese!For God's sake, stand by me! I'm desperate, Mr. Conway———"

"Call me 'Bill,' son," Conway interrupted gently.

"You know what the Farrels have been up against always, Bill," Don Mikepleaded. "That easy-going Spanish blood! But, Bill, I'm a throw-back.By God, I am! Give me this chance—this God-given chance—and thefifty-per-cent, Celtic strain in me and the twenty-five-per-cent.Gaelic that came with my Galvez blood will save the San Gregorio towhite men! Give me the water, Bill; give me the water that will makemy valley bloom in the August heat, and then, with the tremendousincrease in the value of the land, I'll find somebody, some place, whowill trust me for three hundred thousand paltry dollars to give thisman and save my ranch. This is a white-man's country, and John Parkeris striving, for a handful of silver, to betray us and make it a yellowparadise."

His voice broke under the stress of his emotion; he gulped and thetears welled to his eyes.

"Oh, Bill, for God's sake don't fail me!" he begged. "You're aCalifornian! You've seen the first Japs come! Only fifteen years ago,they were such a rare sight the little boys used to chase them andthrow rocks at them just to see them run in terror. But the littleboys do not throw rocks at them now, and they no longer run. They havethe courage of numbers and the prompt and forceful backing of apowerful fraternity across the Pacific. You've seen them spreadgradually over the land—why, Bill, just think of the San Gregorio fiveyears hence—the San Gregorio where you and I have hunted quail since Iwas ten years old. You gave me my first shot-gun———"

"Sonny," said old Bill Conway gently, passing his arm across Farrel'sshoulders, "I wish to goodness you'd shut up! I haven't got threehundred thousand dollars, nor a tenth of it. If I had it I'd give itto you now and save argument. But I'll tell you what I have got, son,and that's a sense of humor. It's kept me poor all my life, but if youthink it will make you rich you're welcome to it." He looked up, andhis glance met Kay's. "This chap's a limited edition," he informed hergravely. "After the Lord printed one volume, he destroyed the plates.Mr. Parker, sir—" He stepped up to John Parker and smote the latterlightly on the breast—"Tag; you're it!" he announced pleasantly."I'll cancel this contract when you hand me a certified check; fortwenty-four billion, nine-hundred and eighty-two million, four hundredand seventeen thousand, six hundred and one dollars, nine cents, andtwo mills."

"Conway," Parker answered him quietly, "I like your sense of humor,even if it does hurt. However, you force me to fight the devil withfire. Still, for the sake of the amenities, we should always makeformal declaration of war before beginning hostilities."

"And that's a trick you didn't learn in Japan," the old contractorreminded him.

"So I hereby declare war. I'm a past master at holding hard towhatever I do not wish the other fellow to take away from me, so buildyour dam and be damned to you. Of course, if you complete yourcontract eventually, you will force me to pay you for it, but in theinterim you will have had to use clam-shells and woodpecker heads formoney. I know I can stave off settlement of your judgment for a year;after that, should I acquire title to the Rancho Palomar, I will settlewith you promptly."

"And if you shouldn't acquire title, I shall look to my young friend,Don Miguel Farrel, for reimbursem*nt. While at present the future maylook as black to Mike as the Earl of Hell's riding-boots, his credit isgood with me. Is this new law you've promulgated retroactive?"

"What do you mean?"

"You'll settle with me for all work performed up to the moment of thisbreak in diplomatic relations, won't you?"

"That's quite fair, Conway. I'll do that." Despite the chagrin ofhaving to wage for the nonce a losing battle, Parker laughed heartilyand with genuine sincerity. Don Mike joined with him and the chargedatmosphere cleared instantly.

"Bill Conway, you're twenty-four carat all through." Farrel laid a handaffectionately on his father's old friend. "Be sure to come down tothe hacienda tomorrow night and get your check. We dine at six-thirty."

"As is?" Conway demanded, surveying his rusty old business suit andhard, soiled hands.

"'As is,' Bill."

"Fine! Well, we've come to a complete understanding without fallingout over it, haven't we?" he demanded of Kay and her mother. "Withmalice toward none and justice toward all—or words to that effect.Eh?"

"Oh, get back into your office, Conway, and cast up the account againstme. Figure a full day for the men and the mules, although our breakcame at half-past three. I'm a contrary man, but I'm not small. Comeon, Mr. Farrel, let's go home," Parker suggested.

"Little birds in their nest should agree," old Conway warned, as, witha sweep of his battered old hat to the ladies, he turned to re-enterhis office. With a nod of farewell, John Parker and his wife startedriding down the draw, while Farrel turned to unloosen his saddle-girthand adjust the heavy stock-saddle on the pinto's back. While he wasthus engaged, Kay rode up to the door of Conway's rough little office,bent down from Panchito, and peered in.

"Bill Conway!" she called softly.

Bill Conway came to the door.

"What's the big idea, Miss Parker?"

The girl glanced around and saw that Don Mike was busy with the latigo,so she leaned down, drew her arm around the astounded Conway's neck,and implanted on his ruddy, bristly cheek a kiss as soft—so BillConway afterward described it—as goose-hair.

"You build that dam," she whispered, blushing furiously, "and see to itthat it's a good dam and will hold water for years. I'm the reserve inthis battle—understand? When you need money, see me, but, oh, pleasedo not tell Don Mike about it. I'd die of shame."

She whirled Panchito and galloped down the draw, with Miguel Farrelloping along behind her, while, from the door of his shack of anoffice, old Bill Conway looked after them and thoughtfully rubbed acertain spot on his cheek. Long after the young folks had disappearedround the base of El Palomar, he continued to gaze. Eventually he wasbrought out of his reverie when a cur dog belonging to one of theteamsters on the grading gang thrust a cold muzzle into his hand.

"Purp," murmured Mr. Conway, softly, "this isn't a half-bad old world,even if a fellow does grow old, and finds himself hairless andchildless and half broke and shackled to the worst automobile in theworld, bar none. And do you know why it isn't such a rotten world assome folks claim? No? Well, I'll tell you, purp. It's because itkeeps a-movin'. And do you know what keeps it a-movin'? Purp, it'slove!"

XXI

At the base of El Palomar, Farrel and his party were met by the Parkerchauffeur with the car. Pablo had guided him out and was loungingimportantly in the seat beside William.

"Don Nicolás Sandoval came to the hacienda an hour ago, Don Miguel," hereported. "He brought with him three others; all have gone forth totake possession of Loustalot's sheep."

Farrel nodded and dismounted to assist Mrs. Parker as the latter camedown from her horse, somewhat stiffly. When he turned to perform asimilar office for her daughter, however, the girl smilingly shook herhead.

"I shipped for the cruise, Don Mike," she assured him. "May I ridehome with you? Remember, you've got to pick up your rope and thatpanther's pelt." Her adorable face flushed faintly as her gaze soughther mother's. "I have never seen a panther undressed," she protested.

"Well," her amiable mother replied, with her customary hearty manner,"far be it from me to deprive you of that interesting sight. Take goodcare of her, Miguel. I hold you responsible for her."

"You are very kind to trust me so."

Both Parker and his wife noted that his words were not mere politepatter. Farrel's gravely courteous bearing, his respectful bow to Mrs.Parker and the solemnity with which he spoke impressed them with theconviction that this curious human study in light and shadow regardedtheir approval as an honor, not a privilege.

"I shall take very good care of Miss Kay," he supplemented. "We shallbe home for dinner."

He mounted the gray gelding, leaving Pablo to follow with the blackmare and the pinto, while he and Kay cantered down the wide white washof the Rio San Gregorio.

From their semi-concealment among the young willow growth, scrub cattlegazed at them or fled, with tails aloft, for more distant thickets;cottontail rabbits and an occasional jack-rabbit, venturing forth asthe shadows grew long in the valley, flashed through the low sage andweeds; from the purpling hillsides co*ck quails called cheerily to theirfamilies to come right home. The air was still and cool, heavy withthe perfume of sage, blackberry briars, yerba santa, an occasionalbay tree and the pungent odor of moist earth and decaying vegetation.There had fallen upon the land that atmosphere of serenity, of peace,that is the peculiar property of California's foothill valleys in thelate afternoon; the world seemed very distant and not at all desirable,and to Kay there came a sudden, keen realization of how this man besideher must love this darkling valley with the hills above presentingtheir flower-clad breasts to the long spears of light from the dyingday…

Don Mike had caught the spirit of the little choristers of his hiddenvalley, she heard him singing softly in rather a pleasing baritonevoice:

Pienso en ti, Teresita mia,
Cuando la luna alumbra la tierra
He sentido el fuego de tus ojos,
He sentido las penas del amor.

"What does it mean?" she demanded, imperiously.

"Oh, it's a very ordinary little sentiment, Miss Kay. The Spanishcavalier, having settled himself under his lady's window, thrums apreliminary chord or two, just to let her and the family know he's notworking on the sly; then he says in effect: 'I think of thee, my littleTessie, when the moonlight is shining on the world; your bright eyeshave me going for fair, kid, and due to a queer pain in my interior, Iknow I'm in love.'"

"You outrageous Celt!"

He chuckled. "A Spaniard takes his love very seriously. He's got tobe sad and despairing about it, even when he knows very well the girlis saying to herself: 'For heaven's sake, when will this windy bird getdown to brass tacks and pop the question?' He droops like a staleeschscholtzia, only, unlike that flower he hasn't sense enough to shutup for the night!"

Her beaming face turned toward him was ample reward for his casualdisplay of Celtic wit, his knowledge of botany. And suddenly she sawhis first real smile—a flash of beautiful white teeth and a wrinklingof the skin around the merry eyes. It came and went like a flicker oflightning; the somber man was an insouciant lad again.

A quarter of a mile across the valley they found the torn and mutilatedcarcass of a heifer, with a day-old calf grieving beside her.

"This is the work of our defunct friend, the panther," Farrelexplained. "He had made his kill on this little heifer and eatenheartily. It occurred to me while we were chasing him that he waslogey. Well—when Mike's away the cats will play."

He reached down, grasped the calf by the forelegs and drew the forlornlittle animal up before him on the saddle. As it stretched out quietlyacross his thighs, following a half-hearted struggle to escape, Kay sawDon Mike give the orphan his left index finger to suck.

"Not much sustenance in it, is there, old timer?" he addressed thecalf. "Coyotes would have had you tonight if I hadn't passed by."

"What a tiny calf," Kay observed, riding close to pat the sleek head.

"He's scrubby and interbred; his mother bore him before she had her owngrowth and a hundred generations of him got the same poor start inlife. You've seen people like this little runt. He really isn't worthcarrying home, but———"

It occurred to her that his silence was eloquent of the inherentgenerosity of the man, even as his poetic outburst of a few minutesbefore had been eloquent of the minstrel in him. She rode in silence,regarding him critically from time to time, and when they came to thetree where the panther hung he gave her the calf to hold while hedeftly skinned the dead marauder, tied the pelt behind his saddle,relieved her of the calf and jogged away toward home.

"Well," he demanded, presently, "you do not think any the less of mefor what I did to your father this afternoon, do you?"

"Of course not. Nobody likes a mollycoddle," she retorted.

"A battle of finances between your father and me will not be a verydesperate one. A gnat attacking a tiger. I shall scarcely interesthim. I am predestined to defeat."

"But with Mr. Conway's aid———"

"Bill's aid will not amount to very much. He was always a splendidengineer and an honest builder, but a poor business man. He might beable to maintain work on the dam for awhile, but in the end lack ofadequate finances would defeat us. And I have no right to ask Bill tosacrifice the profit on this job which your father is willing to payhim, in return for a cancellation of the contract; I have no right toask or expect Bill Conway to risk a penniless old age for me. You see,I attacked him at his weakest point—his heart. It was selfish of me."

She could not combat this argument, so she said nothing and for aquarter of a mile her companion rode with his chin on his breast, insilence. What a man of moods he was, she reflected.

"You despair of being able to pay my father the mortgage and regainyour ranch?" she asked, at length.

He nodded.

"But you'll fight to win—and fight to the finish, will you not?" shepersisted.

He glanced at her sharply. "That is my natural inclination, MissKay—when I permit sentiment to rule me. But when I apply theprinciples of sound horse sense—when I view the approach of theconflict as a military man would view it, I am forced to the convictionthat in this case discretion is the better part of valor. Battles arenever won by valorous fools who get themselves killed in a spectacularmanner."

"I see. You plan to attempt the sale of your equity in the ranchbefore my father can finally foreclose on you."

"No, that would be the least profitable course to pursue. Ahundred-thousand-acre ranch is not sold in a hurry unless offered at atremendous sacrifice. Even then it is of slow sale. For the followingreasons: Within a few years, what with the rapid growth of populationin this state and the attrition of alien farmers on our agriculturallands, this wonderful valley land of the Rancho Palomar will cease tobe assessed as grazing land. It is agricultural land and as a matterof equity it ought to pay taxes to the state on that basis. And itwill. I do not know—I have never heard of—a cattleman with a milliondollars cash on hand, and if I could find such a cattleman who waslooking for a hundred thousand acre ranch he would not want half of itto be agricultural land and be forced to bankrupt himself paying taxeson it as such."

"I think I understand. The ranch must be sold to some person orcompany who will purchase it with the idea of selling half of the ranchas grazing land and the valley of the San Gregorio as agriculturalland."

"Quite so. I would have to interest a sub-division expert whosespecialty is the sale of small farms, on time payments. Well, nobusiness man ever contemplates the purchase, at a top price, ofproperty that is to be sold on mortgage foreclosure; and I think hewould be an optimist, indeed, who would bid against your father."

"Of course," he continued, patiently, "when the ranch is sold atauction to satisfy the mortgage your father will bid it in at theamount of the mortgage, It is improbable that he will have to pay more."

"Am I to understand then, Don Mike, that for approximately threehundred thousand dollars he will be enabled, under this atrocious codeof business morals, to acquire a property worth at least a milliondollars?"

"Such is the law—a law as old as the world itself."

"Why, then, the whole thing is absurdly simple, Don Mike. All you haveto do is to get a friend to bid against my father and run the price upon him to something like a half-way decent sum. In that way you shouldmanage to save a portion of your equity."

He bent upon her a benign and almost paternal glance. "You'retremendously sweet to put that flea in my ear, Kay. It's a wonderfulprescription, but it lacks one small ingredient—the wealthy,courageous and self-sacrificing friend who will consent to run thesandy on your astute parent, as a favor to me."

She gave him a tender, prescient little smile—the smile of one whosees beyond a veil objects not visible to the eyes of other mortals.

"Well, even if he is my dear father he ought to be nice about it andsee to it that you receive a fair price for your equity." She clenchedher little fist. "Why, Don Mike, that's just like killing the wounded."

"My dear girl, I do not blame your father at all. What claim have I onhis sympathy or his purse? I'm a stranger to him. One has to be asport in such matters and take the blow with a smile."

"I don't care. It's all wrong," she replied with spirit. "And I'mgoing to tell my father so."

"Oh, I've thought up a plan for escaping with a profit," he assuredher, lightly. "It will leave you folks in undisputed possession of thehouse and the ranch, leave Bill Conway free to proceed with hisvaluable contract and leave me free to mount Panchito and fare forth toother and more virgin fields—I trust. All of this within a period offorty-eight hours."

Was it fancy, or had her face really blanched a little?

"Why—why, Don Mike! How extraordinary!"

"On the contrary, quite ordinary. It's absurdly simple. I need somegetaway money. I ought to have it—and I'm going to get it by theoldest known method—extortion through intimidation. Your father is asmart man and he will see the force of my argument."

"He's a very stubborn man and doesn't bluff worth a cent," she warnedhim and added: "Particularly when he doesn't like one or when he isangry. And whatever you do, do not threaten him. If you threaten him,instantly he will be consumed with curiosity to see you make good."

"I shall not threaten him. I shall merely talk business to him.That's a language he understands."

"How much money do you expect to realize?"

"About half a million dollars."

"In return for what?"

"A quit claim deed to the Rancho Palomar. He can have a title in feesimple to the ranch by noon tomorrow and thus be spared the necessityfor a new suit to foreclose that accursed mortgage and the concomitantwait of one year before taking possession. He will then be free tocontinue his well-drilling and dam-building in Caliente Basin; he canimmediately resume his negotiations with Okada for the purchase of theentire valley and will be enabled, in all probability, to close thedeal at a splendid profit. Then he can proceed to erect hishydro-electric plant and sell it for another million dollars' profit toone of the parent power companies throughout the state; when that hasbeen disposed of he can lease or sell the range land to André Loustalotand finally he can retire with the prospect of unceasing dividends fromthe profits of his irrigation company. Within two years he will have aprofit of at least two million dollars, net, but this will not bepossible until he has first disposed of me at a total disposing priceof five hundred thousand dollars."

"Please explain that."

"As I think I have remarked in your presence once before, there isextreme probability that the State of California will have passedadditional anti-Jap legislation, designed to tighten the present lawand eliminate the legal loop-holes whereby alien Japanese continue toacquire land despite the existing law. If I stand pat no Jap can setfoot in the San Gregorio valley for at least one year from date and bythat time this legislation may be in force, in which event the Jap dealwill be killed forever. Also, there is always the off chance that Imay manage, mysteriously, to redeem the property in the interim. Itwould be worth a quarter of a million dollars to your father thisminute if he could insure himself against redemption of the mortgage;and it would be worth an additional quarter of a million dollars to himif he were free to do business with Okada to-morrow morning. Okada isa sure-fire prospect. He will pay cash for the entire valley if Ipermit the deal to go through now. If, however, through mystubbornness, your father loses out with Okada, it will be a year hencebefore he can even recommence work on his irrigation system and anotheryear before he will have it completed. Many things may occur duringthose two years—the principal danger to be apprehended being thesudden collapse of inflated war-time values, with resultant moneypanics, forced liquidation and the destruction of public confidence inland investments. The worry and exasperation I can hand your respectedparent must be as seriously considered as the impending tremendous lossof profit."

"I believe you are a very shrewd young man, Don Mike," the girlanswered, sadly. "I think your plan will be much more likely toproduce half a million dollars of what you call 'getaway money' than mysuggestion that a friend run up the price on father at the sale. Buthow do you know Okada will pay cash?"

"I do not know. But if your father's attorneys are Californians theywill warn him to play safe when dealing with a Jap."

"But is it not possible that Okada may not have sufficient money tooperate on the excessive scale you outline?"

"Not a chance. He is not buying for himself; he is the representativeof the Japanese Association of California."

"Well, Don Miguel Farrel," the girl declared, as he ceased speaking, "Ihave only known you twenty-four hours, but in that time I have heardyou do a deal of talking on the Japanese question in California. Andnow you have proved a terrible disappointment to me."

"In what way?" he demanded, and pulled his horse up abruptly. He wasvaguely distressed at her blunt statement, apprehensive as to thereason for her flushed face and flashing eye, the slightly stridentnote in her voice.

"I have regarded you as a true blue American—a super-patriot. And nowyou calmly plan to betray your state to the enemy for the paltry sum ofhalf a million dollars!"

He stared at her, a variety of emotions in his glance. "Well," hereplied, presently, "I suppose I shall deserve that, if I succeed withmy plan. However, as a traitor, I'm not even a runner-up with yourfather. He's going to get a couple of million dollars as the price ofhis shame! And he doesn't even need the money. On the other hand, Iam a desperate, mighty unhappy ex-soldier experiencing all of thedelights of a bankrupt, with the exception of an introduction to thereferee in bankruptcy. I'm whipped. Who cares what becomes of me?Not a soul on earth except Pablo and Carolina and they, poor creatures,are dependent upon me. Why should I sacrifice my last chance forhappiness in a vain effort to stem a yellow tide that cannot bestemmed? Why do you taunt me with my aversion to sacrifice for mycountry—I who have sacrificed two years of my life and some of myblood and much of my happiness?"

Suddenly she put her little gauntleted hand up to her face andcommenced to weep. "Oh, Don Mike, please forgive me! I'm sorry.I—I—have no right to demand such a sacrifice, but oh, Ithought—perhaps—you were different from all the others—that you'd bea true—knight and die—sword in—hand—oh, dear, I'm such a—littleninny———"

He bit his lower lip but could not quite conceal a smile.

"You mean you didn't think I was a quitter!" His voice was grim andcrisp. "Well, in the dirty battle for bread and butter there are nodecorations for gallantry in action; in that conflict I do not have tolive up to the one that Congress gave me. And why shouldn't I quit? Icome from a long line of combination fighter-quitters. We were neverafraid of hardship or physical pain, danger or death, but—we couldn'tface conditions; we balked and quit in the face of circ*mstance; weretired always before the economic onslaught of the Anglo-Saxon."

"Ah, but you're Anglo-Saxon," she sobbed. "You belong to the race thatdoesn't quit—that somehow muddles through."

"If I but possessed blue eyes and flaxen hair—if I but possessed theguerdon of a noble lady's love—I might not have disappointed you, Kay.I might still have been a true knight and died sword in hand.Unfortunately, however, I possess sufficient Latin blood to make me alittle bit lazy—to counsel quitting while the quitting is good."

"I'm terribly disappointed," she protested. "Terribly."

"So am I. I'm ashamed of myself, but—a contrite heart is not hockableat the only pawnshop in El Toro. Buck up, Miss Parker!"

"You have called me Kay three times this afternoon, Miguel———"

He rode close to her, reached over and gently drew one little hand fromher crimson face. "You're a dear girl, Kay," he murmured, huskily."Please cease weeping. You haven't insulted me or even remotely hurtmy little feelings. God bless your sweet soul! If you'll only stopcrying, I'll give you Panchito. He's yours from this minute. Saddleand bridle, too. Take him. Do what you please with him, but forheaven's sake don't let your good mother think we've beenquarreling—and on the very second day of our acquaintance."

She dashed the tears away and beamed up at him. "You give Panchito tome! You don't mean it!"

"I do. I told you I might give him away to somebody worth while."

"You haven't known me long enough to give me valuable presents,Miguel," she demurred. "You're a dear to want to give him to me andI'm positively mad to own him, but Mother and Dad might think—well,that is, they might not understand. Of course we understand perfectly,but—well—you understand, don't you, Miguel?"

"I understand that I cannot afford to have your father suspect that Iam unmindful of—certain conditions," he answered her, and flushed withembarrassment. "If you do not want Panchito as a gift I shall notinsist———"

"I think it would be a good idea for you to permit Dad to buy him forme. He's worth every cent of five thousand dollars———"

"I'll never sell him. I told you this afternoon I love him. I neversell a horse or a dog that I love or that loves me. I shall have totake him back, Kay—for the present."

"I think that would be the better way, Miguel." She bent upon him aninscrutable smile but in the depths of her brown eyes he thought hedetected laughter.

"You'll buck up now?" he pleaded.

"I'm already bucked up."

As they rode up to the great barn, Kay dismounted. "Leave the oldtrifle at the door, Kay," Farrel told her. "Pablo will get him home.Excuse me, please, while I take this calf over to Carolina. She'llmake a man out of him. She's a wonder at inducing little maverickslike this fellow to drink milk from a bucket."

He jogged away, while Panchito, satisfied that he had performedthroughout the day like a perfect gentleman, bent his head and rubbedhis forehead against Kay's cheek, seeking some evidence of growingpopularity with the girl. To his profound satisfaction she scratchedhim under the jawbone and murmured audibly:

"Never mind, old dear. Some day you'll be my Panchito. He loves youand didn't he say he could only give you away for love?"

CHAPTER XXII

Dinner that night was singularly free from conversation. Nobodypresent felt inclined to be chatty. John Parker was wondering whatMiguel Farrel's next move would be, and was formulating means tocheckmate it; Kay, knowing what Don Mike's next move would be andknowing further that she was about to checkmate it, was silent througha sense of guilt; Mrs. Parker's eight miles in the saddle thatafternoon had fatigued her to the point of dissipating her buoyantspirits, and Farrel had fallen into a mood of deep abstraction.

"Are we to listen to naught but the champing of food?" Mrs. Parkerinquired presently.

"Hello!" her husband declared. "So you've come up for air, eh, Katie?"

"Oh, I'm feeling far from chatty, John. But the silence is oppressive.Miguel, are you plotting against the whites?"

He looked up with a smiling nod. "I'm making big medicine, Mrs.Parker. So big, in fact," he continued, as he folded his napkin andthrust it carefully into the ring, "that I am going to ask yourpermission to withdraw. I have been very remiss in my social duties.I have been home twenty-four hours and I have passed the Mission de laMadre Dolorosa three times, yet I have not been inside to pay myrespects to my old friends there. I shall be in disgrace if I fail tocall this evening for Father Dominic's blessing. They'll be wonderingwhy I neglect them."

"How do you know they know you're home?" Parker demanded, suspiciously.He was wondering if Don Miguel's excuse to leave the table might havesome connection with Bill Conway and the impending imbroglio.

"Brother Flavio told me so to-night. As we rode down the valley he wasringing the Angelus; and after the Angelus he played on the chimes,'I'm Nearer Home To-day.' May I be excused, Mrs. Parker?"

"By all means, Michael."

"Thank you." He included them all in a courteous nod of farewell.They heard the patio gate close behind him.

"I wish I dared follow him," Parker observed. "I wonder if he reallyis going down to the Mission. I think I'll make certain."

He left the room, went out to the patio gate, opened it slightly andpeered out. His host's tall form, indistinct in the moonlight, wasdisappearing toward the palm-lined avenue, so Parker, satisfied thatDon Mike had embarked upon the three-mile walk to the Mission, returnedto the dining-room.

"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" Kay queried.

"I think he's headed for the Mission, after all, Kay."

"I never doubted it."

"Why?"

"Because he wouldn't tell a trifling lie to deceive when there was nonecessity for deceiving. His plans are fully matured and he will notact until morning. In that three-mile walk to the Mission he willperfect the details of his plan of attack."

"Then he is planning?—but you said his plans are fully matured. Howdo you know, Kay?"

"He told me all about them as we were riding in this evening." BothParker and his wife raised interrogatory eyebrows. "Indeed!" Mrs.Parker murmured. "So he's honoring you with his confidences already?"

The girl ignored her mother's bantering tones. "No, he didn't tell mein confidence. In fact, his contemplated procedure is so normal andfree from guile that he feels there is no necessity for secrecy. Isuppose he feels that it would be foolish to conceal the trap after themouse has been caught in it."

"Well, little daughter, I haven't been caught—yet. And I'm not amouse, but considerable of an old fox. What's he up to?"

"He's going to sell you his equity in the ranch."

Her father stared hard at her, a puzzled little smile beginning tobreak over his handsome face.

"That sounds interesting," he replied, dryly. "What am I going to payfor it?"

"Half a million dollars."

"Nonsense."

"Perhaps. But you'll have to admit that his reasoning is not sopreposterous as you think." And she went on to explain to Parker everyangle of the situation as Don Mike viewed it.

Both Parker and his wife listened attentively. "Well, John," the goodsoul demanded, when her daughter had finished speaking: "What's wrongwith that prescription?"

"By George, that young man has a head on his shoulders. His reasoningis absolutely flawless. However, I am not going to pay him anyhalf-million dollars. I might, in a pinch, consider paying him halfthat, but———"

"Would a quit-claim deed be worth half a million to you, Dad?"

"As a matter of cold business, it would. Are you quite certain he wasserious?"

"Oh, quite serious."

"He's a disappointment, Kay. I had hoped he would prove to be aworth-while opponent, for certainly he is a most likable young man.However———" He smothered a yawn with his hand, selected a cigarfrom his case, carefully cut off the end and lighted it. "Poor devil,"he murmured, presently, and rose, remarking that he might as well takea turn or two around the farmyard as a first aid to digestion.

Once outside, he walked to the edge of the mesa and gazed down themoon-lit San Gregorio. Half a mile away he saw a moving black spot onthe white ribbon of road. "Confound you," he murmured, "you're goingto get some of my tail feathers, but not quite the handful youanticipate. You cannot stand the acid test, Don Mike, and I'm glad toknow that."

CHAPTER XXIII

As Farrel approached the Mission de la Madre Dolorosa, a man in therusty brown habit of a Franciscan friar rose from a bench just outsidethe entrance to the Mission garden.

"My son," he said, in calm, paternal accents and speaking in Spanish,"I knew you would come to see your old friends when you had laid asidethe burdens of the day. I have waited here to be first to greet you;for you I am guilty of the sin of selfishness."

"Padre Dominic!" Don Mike grasped the out-stretched hand and wrung itheartily. "Old friend! Old Saint! Not since my confirmation have Iasked for your blessing," and with the words he bent his head while theold friar, making the sign of the cross, asked the blessing of God uponthe last of the Farrels.

Don Mike drew his old friend down to the seat the latter had justvacated. "We will talk here for awhile, Father," he suggested. "Iexpect the arrival of a friend in an automobile and I would not be inthe garden when he passes. Later I will visit with the others. GoodFather Dominic, does God still bless you with excellent health?"

"He does, Miguel, but the devil afflicts me with rheumatism."

"You haven't changed a bit, father Dominic."

"Mummies do not change, my son. I have accomplished ninety-two yearsof my life; long ago I used up all possibilities for change, even forthe worse. It is good to have you home, Miguel. Pablo brought us thenews early this morning. We wondered why you did not look in upon usas you passed last night."

"I looked in at my father's grave. I was in no mood for meeting thosewho had loved him."

For perhaps half an hour they conversed; then the peace of the valleywas broken by the rattling and labored puffing of an asthmaticautomobile.

Father Dominic rose and peered around the corner. "Yonder comes onewho practises the great virtue of economy," he announced, "for he isrunning without lights. Doubtless he deems the moonlight sufficient."

Farrel stepped out into the road and held up his arm as a signal forthe motorist to halt. Old Bill Conway swung his prehistoric automobileoff the road and pulled up before the Mission, his carbon-heated motorcontinuing to fire spasmodically even after he had turned off theignition.

"Hello, Miguel," he called, cheerily. "What are you doing here, son?"

"Calling on my spiritual adviser and waiting for you, Bill."

"Howdy, Father Dominic." Conway leaped out and gave his hand to theold friar. "Miguel, how did you know I was coming?"

"This is the only road out of Agua Caliente basin—and I know you!You'd give your head for a football to anybody you love, but the manwho takes anything away from you will have to get up early in themorning."

"Go to the head of the class, boy. You're right. I figured Parkerwould be getting up rather early tomorrow morning and dusting into ElToro to clear for action, so I thought I'd come in to-night. I'm goingto rout out an attorney the minute I get to town, have him draw up acomplaint in my suit for damages against Parker for violation ofcontract, file the complaint the instant the county clerk's officeopens in the morning and then attach his account in the El Toro bank."

"You might attach his stock in that institution while you're at it,Bill. However, I wouldn't stoop so low as to attach his twoautomobiles. The Parkers are guests of mine and I wouldn'tinconvenience the ladies for anything,"

"By the Holy Poker! Have they got two automobiles?" There was a hintof apprehension in old Conway's voice.

"Si, señor. A touring car and a limousine."

"Oh, lord! I'm mighty glad you told me, Miguel. I only stole thespark plugs from that eight cylinder touring car. Lucky thing thehounds know me. They like to et me up at first."

Farrel sat down on the filthy running board of Bill Conway's car andlaughed softly. "Oh, Bill, you're immense! So that's why you'rerunning without lights! You concluded that even if he did get up earlyin the morning you couldn't afford to permit him to reach El Torobefore the court-house opened for business."

"A wise man counteth his chickens before they are hatched, Miguel.Where does Parker keep the limousine?"

"Bill, I cannot tell you that. These people are my guests."

"Oh, very well. Now that I know it's there I'll find it. What did youwant to see me about, boy?"

"I've been thinking of our conversation of this afternoon, Bill, and asa result I'm panicky. I haven't any right to drag you into trouble orask you to share my woes. I've thought it over and I think I shallplay safe. Parker will get the ranch in the long run, but if I givehim a quit-claim deed now I think he will give me at least a quarter ofa million dollars. It'll be worth that to him to be free to proceedwith his plans."

"Yes, I can understand that, Miguel, and probably, from a businessstandpoint, your decision does credit to your common sense. But howabout this Jap colony?"

"Bill, can two lone, poverty-stricken Californians hope to alter theimmigration laws of the entire United States? Can we hope to keep thepresent Japanese population of California confined to existing areas?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I had a wild hope this afternoon—guess I was a bit theatrical—but itwas a hope based on selfishness. I'm only twenty-eight years old,Bill, but you are nearly sixty. I'm too young to sacrifice my oldfriends, so I've waited here to tell you that you are released fromyour promise to support me. Settle with Parker and pull out in peace."

Conway pondered. "Wel-l-l-l," he concluded, finally, "perhaps you'reright, son. Nevertheless, I'm going to enter suit and attach. Foolishto hunt big game with an empty gun, Miguel. Parker spoke of anamicable settlement, but as Napoleon remarked, 'God is on the side ofthe strongest battalions,' and an amicable settlement is much moreamicably obtained, when a forced settlement is inevitable." And thecunning old rascal winked solemnly.

Farrel stood up. "Well, that's all I wanted to see you about, Bill.That, and to say 'thank you' until you are better paid."

"Well, I'm on my way, Miguel." The old contractor shook hands withFather Dominic and Farrel, cranked his car, turned it and headed backup the San Gregorio, while Father Dominic guided Don Mike into theMission refectory, where Father Andreas and the lay brothers sat aroundthe dinner table, discussing a black scale which had lately appeared ontheir olive trees.

At the entrance to the palm avenue, Bill Conway stopped his car andproceeded afoot to the Farrel hacienda, which he approached cautiouslyfrom the rear, through the oaks. A slight breeze was blowing down thevalley, so Conway manoeuvred until a short quick bark from one ofFarrel's hounds informed him that his scent had been borne to thekennel and recognized as that of a friend. Confident now that he wouldnot be discovered by the inmates of the hacienda, Bill Conway proceededboldly to the barn. Just inside the main building which, in moreprosperous times on El Palomar, had been used for storing hay, thetouring car stood. Conway fumbled along the instrument board anddiscovered the switch key still in the lock, so he turned on theheadlights and discovered the limousine thirty feet away in the rear ofthe barn. Ten minutes later, with the spark plugs from both carscarefully secreted under a pile of split stove wood in the yard, hedeparted as silently as he had come.

About nine o'clock Don Mike left the Mission and walked home. On thehills to the north he caught the glare of a camp-fire against thesilvery sky; wherefore he knew that Don Nicolás Sandoval and hisdeputies were guarding the Loustalot sheep.

At ten o'clock he entered the patio. In a wicker chaise-longue JohnParker lounged on the porch outside his room; Farrel caught the scentof his cigar on the warm, semi-tropical night, saw the red end of itgleaming like a demon's eye.

"Hello, Mr. Farrel," Parker greeted him. "Won't you sit down and smokea cigar with me before turning in?"

"Thank you. I shall be happy to." He crossed the garden to his guest,sat down beside him and gratefully accepted the fragrant cigar Parkerhanded him. A moment later Kay joined them.

"Wonderful night," Parker remarked. "Mrs. P. retired early, but Kayand I sat up chatting and enjoying the peaceful loveliness of this oldgarden. A sleepless mocking bird and a sleepy little thrush gave aconcert in the sweet-lime tree; a couple of green frogs in the fountainrendered a bass duet; Kay thought that if we remained very quiet thespirits of some lovers of the 'splendid idle forties' might appear inyour garden."

The mood of the night was still upon the girl. In the momentarysilence that followed she commenced singing softly:

I saw an old-fashioned missus,
Taking old-fashioned kisses,
In an old-fashioned garden,
From an old-fashioned beau.

Don Mike slid off the porch and went to his own room, returningpresently with a guitar. "I've been wanting to play a little," heconfessed as he tuned the neglected instrument, "but it seemed sort ofsacrilegious—after coming home and finding my father gone and theranch about to go. However—why sip sorrow with a long spoon? What'sthat ballad about the old-fashioned garden, Miss Kay? I like it. Ifyou'll hum it a few times———"

Ten minutes later he knew the simple little song and was singing itwith her. Mrs. Parker, in dressing gown, slippers and boudoir cap,despairing of sleep until all of the members of her family had firstpreceded her to bed, came out and joined them; presently they were allsinging happily together, while Don Mike played or faked anaccompaniment.

At eleven o'clock Farrel gave a final vigorous strum to the guitar andstood up to say good-night.

"Shall we sing again to-morrow night, Don Mike?" Kay demanded, eagerly.

Farrel's glance rested solemnly upon her father's face. "Well, if weall feel happy to-morrow night I see no objection," he answered. "Ifear for your father, Miss Kay. Have you told him of my plans fordepleting his worldly wealth?"

She flushed a little and answered in the affirmative.

"How does the idea strike you, Mr. Parker?"

John Parker grinned—the superior grin of one who knows his superiorstrength, "Like a great many principles that are excellent in theory,your plan will not work in practice."

"No?"

"No."

For the second time that day Kay saw Don Mike's face light up with thatinsouciant boyish smile.

Then he skipped blithely across the garden thrumming the guitar andsinging:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the
coming of the Lord!

At seven o'clock next morning, while Miguel Farrel was shaving, JohnParker came to his door, knocked, and without further ado came into theroom.

"Farrel," he began, briskly, "I do not relish your way of doingbusiness. Where are the spark plugs of my two cars?"

"My dear man, I haven't taken them, so why do you ask me? I am notflattered at your blunt hint that I would so far forget my position ashost as to steal the spark plugs from my guest's automobiles."

"I beg your pardon. Somebody took them and naturally I jumped to theconclusion that you were the guilty party."

Don Mike shaved in silence.

"Do you know who removed those spark plugs, Mr. Farrel?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Who did it?"

"Bill Conway. He came by last night and concluded it would be betterto make quite certain that you remained away from El Toro until aboutnine-thirty o'clock this morning. It was entirely Bill's idea. I didnot suggest it to him, directly or indirectly. He's old enough to rollhis own hoop. He had a complaint in action drawn up against you lastnight; it will be filed at nine o'clock this morning and immediatelythereafter your bank account and your stock in the First National Bankof El Toro will be attached. Of course you will file a bond to liftthe attachment, but Bill will have your assets where he can levy onthem when he gets round to collecting on the judgment which he willsecure against you unless you proceed with the contract for that dam."

"And this is Conway's work entirely?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's clever work. I'm sorry it wasn't yours. May I have the loan ofa saddle horse—Panchito or the gray?"

"Not to ride either of them, breakfastless, twenty-one miles to El Toroin two hours. They can do it, but not under an impost of a hundred andninety pounds. You might ruin both of them———" he scraped his chin,smiling blandly——— "and I know you'd about ruin yourself, sir. Thesaddle had commenced to get very sore before you had completed eightmiles yesterday."

"Then I'm out of luck, I dare say."

"Strikes me that way, Mr. Parker."

"Very well. You force me to talk business. What will that quit-claimdeed cost me?"

"Six hundred thousand dollars. I've raised the ante since last night."

"I'll not pay it."

"What will you pay?"

"About fifty per cent. of it."

"I might consider less than my first figure and more than your last.Make me a firm offer—in writing—and I'll give you a firm answer theinstant you hand me the document. I'm a poor bargainer. Hagglingirritates me—so I never haggle. And I don't care a tinker's hootwhether you buy me off or not. After nine o'clock this morning youwill have lost the opportunity, because I give you my word of honor, Ishall decline even to receive an offer."

He reached over on his bureau and retrieved therefrom a sheet of paper."Here is the form I desire your offer to take, sir," he continued,affably, and handed the paper to Parker. "Please re-write it in ink,fill in the amount of your offer and sign it. You have until nineo'clock, remember. At nine-one you will be too late."

Despite his deep annoyance, Parker favored him with a sardonic grin."You're a good bluffer, Farrel."

Don Mike turned from the mirror and regarded his guest very solemnly."How do you know?" he queried, mildly. "You've never seen me bluff.I've seen a few inquests held in this country over some men who bluffedin an emergency. We're no longer wild and woolly out here, but when wepull, we shoot. Remember that, sir."

Parker felt himself abashed in the presence of this cool young man, fornothing is so disconcerting as a defeated enemy who refuses toacknowledge defeat. It occurred to Parker in that moment that therewas nothing extraordinary in Farrel's action; for consideration of thesweetness of life cannot be presumed to arouse a great deal of interestin one who knows he will be murdered if he does not commit suicide.

John Parker tucked the paper in his pocket and thoughtfully left theroom. "The boy distrusts me," he soliloquized, "afraid I'll go back onany promise I make him, so he demands my offer in writing. Some moreof his notions of business, Spanish style. Stilted and unnecessary.How like all of his kind he is! Ponderous in minor affairs, casual inmajor matters of business."

An hour later he came up to Don Mike, chatting with Kay and Mrs. Parkeron the porch, and thrust an envelope into Farrel's hand.

"Here is my offer—in writing."

"Thank you, sir." Don Mike thrust the envelope unopened into thebreast pocket of his coat and from the side pocket of the same garmentdrew another envelope. "Here is my answer—in writing."

Parker stared at him in frank amazement and admiration; Kay's glance,as it roved from her father to Don Mike and back again, was sad andtroubled.

"Then you've reopened negotiations, father," she demanded, accusingly.

He nodded. "Our host has a persuasive way about him, Kay," hesupplemented. "He insisted so on my making him an offer that finally Iconsented."

"And now," Farrel assured her, "negotiations are about to be closed."

"Absolutely?"

"Absolutely. Never to be reopened, Miss Kay."

Parker opened his envelope and read. His face was without emotion."That answer is entirely satisfactory to me, Mr. Farrel," he said,presently, and passed the paper to his daughter. She read:

I was tempted last night. You should have closed then. I have changedmy mind. Your offer—whatever it may be—is declined.

"I also approve," Kay murmured, and in the swift glance she exchangedwith Don Miguel he read something that caused his heart to beathappily. Mrs. Parker took the paper from her daughter's hand and readit also.

"Very well, Ajax. I think, we all think a great deal more of you fordefying the lightning," was her sole comment.

Despite his calm, John Parker was irritated to the point of fury. Hefelt that he had been imposed upon by Don Mike; his great god,business, had been scandalously flouted.

"I am at a loss to understand, Mr. Farrel," he said, coldly, "why youhave subjected me to the incivility of requesting from me an offer inwriting and then refusing to read it when I comply with your request.Why subject me to that annoyance when you knew you intended to refuseany offer I might make you? I do not relish your flippancy at myexpense, sir."

"Do you not think, sir, that I can afford a modicum of flippancy when Ipay such a fearfully high price for it?" Don Mike countered smilingly."I'll bet a new hat my pleasantry cost me not less than four hundredthousand dollars. I think I'll make certain," and he opened Parker'senvelope and read what was contained therein. "Hum-m! Three hundredand twenty-five thousand?"

Parker extended his hand. "I would be obliged to you for the return ofthat letter," he began, but paused, confused, at Farrel's cheerful,mocking grin.

"All's fair in love and war," he quoted, gaily. "I wanted a documentto prove to some banker or pawn-broker that I have an equity in thisranch and it is worth three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars,in the opinion of the astute financier who holds a first mortgage onit. Really, I think I'd be foolish to give away this evidence," and hetucked it carefully back in his pocket.

"I wonder," Kay spoke up demurely, "which ancestor from which side ofthe family tree put that idea in his head, father?"

Don Mike pretended not to have heard her. He turned kindly to JohnParker and laid a friendly hand upon the latter's arm.

"I think Bill Conway will drift by about ten o'clock or ten-thirty, Mr.Parker. I know he will not cause you any more inconvenience than hefinds absolutely necessary, sir. He's tricky, but he isn't mean."

Parker did not reply. He did not know whether to laugh or fly into arage, to offer Don Mike his hand or his fist. The latter must haveguessed Parker's feelings, for he favored his guests with a Latin shrugand a deprecatory little smile, begged to be excused and departed forthe barn. A quarter of an hour later Kay saw him and Pablo ride out ofthe yard and over the hills toward the west; she observed that Farrelwas riding his father's horse, wherefore she knew that he had leftPanchito behind for her.

Farrel found Don Nicolás Sandoval, the sheriff, by riding straight to acolumn of smoke he saw rising from a grove of oaks on a flat hilltop.

"What do you mean by camping out here, Don Nicolás?" Farrel demanded ashe rode up. "Since when has it become the fashion to await a formalinvitation to the hospitality of the Rancho Palomar?"

"I started to ride down to the hacienda at sunset last night," DonNicolás replied, "but a man on foot and carrying a rifle and a blanketcame over the hills to the south. I watched him through my binoculars.He came down into the wash of the San Gregorio—and I did not see himcome out. So I knew he was camped for the night in the willow thicketsof the river bed; that he was a stranger in the country, else he wouldhave gone up to your hacienda for the night; that his visit spelleddanger to you, else why did he carry a rifle?

"I went supperless, watching from the hillside to see if this strangerwould light a fire in the valley."

"He did not?" Farrel queried.

"Had he made a camp-fire, my boy, I would have accorded myself thepleasure of an informal visit, incidentally ascertaining who he was andwhat he wanted. I am very suspicious of strangers who make cold campsin the San Gregorio. At daylight this morning I rode down the wash andsearched for his camp. I found where he had slept in the grass—alsothis," and he drew from his pocket a single rifle cartridge."Thirty-two-forty caliber, Miguel," he continued, "with a soft-nosebullet. I do not know of one in this county who shoots such a heavyrifle. In the old days we used the .44 caliber, but nowadays, weprefer nothing heavier than a .30 and many use a .35 caliber for deer."

Farrel drew a 6 millimeter Mannlicher carbine from the gun scabbard onhis saddle, dropped five shells into the magazine, looked at his sightsand thrust the weapon back into its receptacle. "I think I ought tohave some more life insurance," he murmured, complacently. "By theway, Don Nicolás, about how many sheep have I attached?"

"Loustalot's foreman says nine thousand in round numbers."

"Where is the sheep camp?"

"Over yonder." Don Nicolás waved a careless hand toward the west. "Isaw their camp-fire last night."

"I'm going over to give them the rush."

"By all means, Miguel. If you run those Basques off the ranch I willbe able to return to town and leave my deputies in charge of thesesheep. Keep your eyes open, Miguel. Adios, muchacho!"

Farrel jogged away with Pablo at his heels. Half an hour later he hadlocated the sheep camp and ridden to it to accost the four bewhiskeredBasque shepherds who, surrounded by their dogs, sullenly watched hisapproach.

"Who is the foreman?" Don Mike demanded in English as he rode.

"I am, you ———— ———— ————," one of the Basques replied,briskly. "I don't have for ask who are you. I know."

"Mebbeso some day, you forget," Pablo cried. "I will give yousomething for make you remember, pig." The old majordomo was ridingthe black mare. A touch of the spur, a bound, and she was besideLoustalot's foreman, with Pablo cutting the fellow furiously over thehead and face with his heavy quirt. The other three sheepmen ran forthe tent, but Don Mike spurred the gray in between them and theirobjective, at the same time drawing his carbine.

There was no further argument. The sheepherders' effects were soontransferred to the backs of three burros and, driving the littleanimals ahead of them, the Basques moved out. Farrel and Don Nicolásfollowed them to the boundaries of the ranch and shooed them outthrough a break in the fence.

"Regarding that stranger who camped last night in the valley, DonMiguel. Would it not be well to look into his case?"

Don Mike nodded. "We will ride up the valley, Pablo, as if we seekcattle; if we find this fellow we will ask him to explain."

"That is well," the old Indian agreed, and dropped back to hisrespectful position in his master's rear. As they topped the ridgethat formed the northern buttress of the San Gregorio, Pablo rode tothe left and started down the hill through a draw covered with a thickgrowth of laurel, purple lilac, a few madone trees and an occasionaloak. He knew that a big, five-point buck had its habitat here and itwas Pablo's desire to jump this buck out and thus afford his master aglimpse of the trophy that awaited him later in the year.

From the valley below a rifle cracked. Pablo slid out of his saddlewith the ease of a youth and lay flat on the ground beside the trail.But no bullet whined up the draw or struck near him, wherefore he knewthat he was not the object of an attack; yet there was wild pounding ofhis heart when the rifle spoke again and again.

The thud of hoofs smote his ear sharply, so close was he to the ground.Slowly Pablo raised his head. Over the hog's back which separated thedraw in which Pablo lay concealed from the draw down which Don Miguelhad ridden, the gray horse came galloping—riderless—and Pablo saw thestock of the rifle projecting from the scabbard. The runaway plungedinto the draw some fifteen yards in front of Pablo, found a cow-trailleading down it and disappeared into the valley.

Pablo's heart swelled with agony. "It has happened!" he murmured."Ah, Mother of God! It has happened!"

Two more shots in rapid succession sounded from the valley. "He makescertain of his kill," thought Pablo. After a while he addressed theoff front foot of the black mare. "I will do likewise."

He started crawling on his belly up out of the draw to the crest of thehog's back. He had an impression, amounting almost to a certainty,that the assassin in the valley had not seen him riding down the draw,otherwise he would not have opened fire on Don Miguel. He would havebided his time and chosen an occasion when there would be no witnesses.

For an hour he waited, watching, grieving, weeping a little. From thedraw where Don Miguel lay no sound came forth. Pablo tried hard toerase from his mind a vision of what he would find when, his primalduty of vengeance, swift and complete, accomplished, he should go downinto that draw. His tear-dimmed, bloodshot eyes searched thevalley—ah, what was that? A cow, a deer or a man? Surely somethinghad moved in the brush at the edge of the river wash.

Pablo rubbed the moisture from his eyes and looked again. A man wascrossing the wash on foot and he carried a rifle. A few feet out inthe wash he paused, irresolute, turned back, and knelt in the sand.

"Oh, blessed Mother of God!" Pablo almost sobbed, joyously. "I willburn six candles in thy honor and keep flowers on thy altar at theMission for a year!"

Again the man stood up and started across the wash. He no longer hadhis rifle. "It is as I thought," Pablo soliloquized. "He has buriedthe rifle in the sand."

Pablo watched the man start resolutely across the three-mile stretch offlat ground between the river and the hills to the south. Don NicolásSandoval had remarked that the stranger had come in over the hills tothe south. Very well! Believing himself undetected, he would departin the same direction. The Rancho Palomar stretched ten miles to thesouth and it would be a strange coincidence if, in that stretch ofrolling, brushy country, a human being should cross his path.

The majordomo quickly crawled back into the draw where the black marepatiently awaited him. Leading her, he started cautiously down, takingadvantage of every tuft of cover until, arrived at the foot of thedraw, he discovered that some oaks effectually screened his quarry fromsight. Reasoning quite correctly that the same oaks as effectuallyscreened him from his quarry, Pablo mounted and galloped straightacross country for his man.

He rode easily, for he was saving the mare's speed for a purpose. Thefugitive, casting a guilty look to the rear, saw him coming and paused,irresolute, but observing no evidences of precipitate haste, continuedhis retreat, which (Pablo observed, grimly) was casual now, as if hedesired to avert suspicion.

Pablo pulled the mare down to a trot, to a walk. He could afford totake his time and it was not part of his plan to bungle his work byundue baste. The fugitive was crossing through a patch of lilac andPablo desired to overhaul him in a wide open space beyond, so he urgedthe mare to a trot again and jogged by on a parallel course, a hundredyards distant.

"Buena dias, señor," he called, affably, and waved his hand at thestranger, who waved back.

On went the old majordomo, across the clear space and into the oaksbeyond. The fugitive, his suspicions now completely lulled, followedand when he was quite in the center of this chosen ground, Pabloemerged from the shelter of the oaks and bore down upon him. The marewas at a fast lope and Pablo's rawhide riata was uncoiled now; the loopswung in slow, fateful circles———

There could be no mistaking his purpose. With a cry that was curiouslyanimal-like, the man ran for the nearest brush. Twenty feet from him,Pablo made his cast and shrieked exultantly as the loop settled overhis prey. A jerk and it was fast around the fellow's mid-riff; a halfhitch around the pommel, a touch of a huge Mexican spur to the flank ofthe fleet little black thoroughbred and Pablo Artelan was headed forhome! He picked his way carefully in order that he might not snag inthe bushes that which he dragged behind him, and he leaned forward inthe saddle to equalize the weight of the THING that bumped and leapedand slid along the ground behind him. There had been screams at first,mingled with Pablo's exultant shouts of victory, but by the time theriver was reached there was no sound but a scraping, slitheringone—the sound of the vengeance of Pablo Artelan.

When he reached the wagon road he brought the mare to a walk. He didnot look back, for he knew his power; the scraping, slithering soundwas music to his ears; it was all the assurance he desired. As calmlyas, during the spring round-up, he dragged a calf up to the brandingfire, he dragged his victim up into the front yard of the RanchoPalomar and paused before the patio gate.

"Ho! Señor Parker!" he shouted. "Come forth. I have something forthe señor. Queeck, Señor!"

The gate opened and John Parker stepped out. "Hello, Pablo! What'sall the row about?"

Pablo turned in his saddle and pointed. "Mira! Look!" he croaked.

"Good God!" Parker cried. "What is that?"

"Once he use' for be one Jap. One good friend of you, I theenk, SeñorParker. He like for save you much trouble, I theenk, so he keel my DonMike—an' for that I have—ah, but you see! An' now, señor, eet is allright for take the Rancho Palomar! Take eet, take eet! Ees nobody forcare now—nobody! Eef eet don' be for you daughter I don't let youhave eet. No, sir, I keel it you so queeck—but my Don Mike hes neverforget hes one great caballero—so Pablo Artelan mus' not forget,too—you sleep in theese hacienda, you eat the food—ah, señor, I am so'shame' for you—and my Don Mike—-hees dead—hees dead———"

He slid suddenly off the black mare and lay unconscious in the dustbeside her.

CHAPTER XXIV

Once again a tragic scene had been enacted under the shade of thecatalpa tree before the Farrel hacienda. The shock of a terrible,unexpected trend of events heralded by the arrival of Pablo Artelan andhis victim had, seemingly, paralyzed John Parker mentally andphysically. He felt again a curious cold, weak, empty feeling in hisbreast. It was the concomitant of defeat; he had felt it twice beforewhen he had been overwhelmed and mangled by the wolves of Wall Street.

He was almost nauseated. Not at sight of the dusty, bloody, shapelessbundle that lay at the end of Pablo's riata, but with the realizationthat, indirectly, he had been responsible for all of this.

Pablo's shrill, agonized denunciation had fallen upon deaf ears, oncethe old majordomo had conveyed to Parker the information of Don Mike'sdeath.

"The rope—take it off!" he protested to the unconscious Pablo. "It'scutting him in two. He looks like a link of sausage! Ugh! A Jap!Horrible! I'm smeared—I can't explain—nobody in this country willbelieve me—Pablo will kill me———"

He sat down on the bench under the catalpa tree, covered his face withhis hands and closed his eyes. When he ventured again to look up, heobserved that Pablo, in falling from his horse, had caught one hugeMexican spur on the cantle of his saddle and was suspended by the heel,grotesquely, like a dead fowl. The black mare, a trained roping horse,stood patiently, her feet braced a little, still keeping a strain onthe riata.

Parker roused himself. With his pocket knife he cut the spur strap,eased the majordomo to the ground, carried him to the bench andstretched him out thereon. Then, grasping the mare by the bridle, heled her around the adobe wall; he shuddered inwardly as he heard thesteady, slithering sound behind her.

"Got to get that Thing out of the way," he mumbled. The great barndoor was open; from within he could hear his chauffeur whistling. Sohe urged the mare to a trot and got past the barn without having beenobserved. An ancient straw stack stood in the rear of the barn and inthe shadow of this he halted, removed the riata from the pommel,dragged the body close to the stack, and with a pitchfork he hastilycovered it with old, weather-beaten straw. All of this he accomplishedwithout any purpose more definite than a great desire to hide from hiswife and from his daughter this offense which Pablo had thrust upon him.

He led the black mare into the barn and tied her. Then he returned toPablo.

The old Indian was sitting up. At sight of Parker he commenced tocurse bitterly, in Spanish and English, this invader who had broughtwoe upon the house of Farrel. But John Parker was a white man.

"Shut up, you saddle-colored old idol," he roared, and shook Pablountil the latter's teeth rattled together. "If the mischief is done itcan't be helped—and it was none of my making. Pull yourself togetherand tell me where this killing occurred. We've got to get Don Miguel'sbody."

For answer Pablo snarled and tried to stab him, so Parker, recalling afragment of the athletic lore of his youth, got a wristlock on the oldman and took the dirk away from him. "Now then," he commanded, as hebumped Pablo's head against the adobe wall, "you behave yourself andhelp me find Don Miguel and bring him in."

Pablo's fury suddenly left him; again he was the servant, respectful,deferential to his master's guest. "Forgive me, señor," he muttered,"I have been crazy in the head."

"Not so crazy that you didn't do a good job on that Jap murderer. Comenow, old chap. Buck up! We can't go after him in my automobile. Haveyou some sort of wagon?"

"Si, señor."

"Then come inside a moment. We both need a drink. We're shaking likea pair of dotards."

He picked up Pablo's dirk and give it back to the old man. Pabloacknowledged this courtesy with a bow and followed to Parker's room,where the latter poured two glasses of whisky. Silently they drank.

"Gracias, señor. I go hitch up one team," Pablo promised, anddisappeared at once.

For about ten minutes Parker remained in his room, thinking. His wifeand Kay had started, afoot, to visit the Mission shortly after Don Mikeand Pablo had left the ranch that morning, and for this Parker was dulygrateful to Providence. He shuddered to think what the effect uponthem would have been had they been present when Pablo made hisspectacular entrance; he rejoiced at an opportunity to get himself inhand against the return of Kay and her mother to the ranch house.

"That wretched Okada!" he groaned. "He concluded that the simplest andeasiest way to an immediate consummation of our interrupted deal wouldbe the removal of young Farrel. So he hired one of his countrymen todo the job, believing or at least hoping, that suspicion wouldnaturally be aroused against that Basque, Loustalot, who is known tohave an old feud with the Farrels. Kate is right. I've trained withwhite men all my life; the moment I started to train with pigmentedmongrels and Orientals I had to do with a new psychology, withmongrelized moral codes—ah, God, that splendid, manly fellow killed bythe insatiable lust of an alien race for this land of his they covet!God forgive me! And poor Kay———"

He was near to tears now; fearful that he might be caught in a momentof weakness, he fled to the barn and helped Pablo hitch a team of drafthorses to an old spring wagon. Pablo's customary taciturnity andprimitive stoicism had again descended upon him like a protectinggarment; his madness had passed and he moved around the team brisklyand efficiently. Parker climbed to the seat beside him as Pablogathered up the reins and started out of the farmyard at a fast trot.

Ten minutes later they paused at the mouth of the draw down whichFarrel had been riding when fired upon. Pablo turned the team, tiedthem to an oak tree and started up the draw at a swift dog trot, withParker at his heels.

Jammed rather tightly in a narrow little dry water-course that ranthrough the center of the draw they found the body of Don Mike. He waslying face downward; Parker saw that flies already rosetted a woundthick with blood clots on top of his head.

"Poor, poor boy," Parker cried agonizedly.

Pablo straddled the little watercourse, got a grip around his master'sbody and lifted it out to Parker, who received it and laid the limpform out on the grass. While he stood looking down at Don Mike'swhite, relaxed face, Pablo knelt, made the sign of the cross andcommenced to pray for the peaceful repose of his roaster's soul. Itwas a long prayer; Parker, waiting patiently for him to finish, did notknow that Pablo recited the litany for the dying.

"Come, Pablo, my good fellow, you've prayed enough," he suggestedpresently. "Help me carry Don Miguel down to the wagon—Pablo, he'salive!"

"Hah!" Pablo's exclamation was a sort of surprised bleat. "Madre deCristo! Look to me, Don Miguel. Ah, little dam' fool, you makebelieve to die, no?" he charged hysterically.

Don Mike's black eyes opened slightly and his slack lower jaw tightenedin a ghastly little grimace. The transported Pablo seized him andshook him furiously, meanwhile deluging Don Mike with a stream ofaffectionate profanity that fell from his lips like a benediction.

"Listen," Don Mike murmured presently. "Pablo's new litany."

"Rascal! Little, wicked heretic! Blood of the devil! Speak, DonMiguel."

"Shut up! Took your—-time—getting me—out—confoundedditch—damned—lazy—beggar———"

Pablo leaped to his feet, his dusky face radiant.

"You hear!" he yelled. "Señor Parker, you hear those boy give to mehell like old times, no?"

"You ran—you colorado maduro good-for-nothing—left me stuckin—ditch—let bushwhacker—get away—fix you for this, Pablo."

Pablo's eyes popped in ecstasy. He grinned like a gargoyle. "You hearthose boy, señor?" he reiterated happily. "I tell you those boy helike ol' Pablo. The night he come back he rub my head; yesterday hepoke the rib of me with the thumb—now pretty soon he say sometheeng, Ibet you."

"Shut up, I tell you." Don Mike's voice, though very faint, waspetulant. "You're a total idiot. Find my horse—get rifle—trail thatman—who shot me—get him—damn your prayers—get him——"

"Ah, Don Miguel," Pablo assured him in Spanish, in tones that wereprideful beyond measure, "that unfortunate fellow has been shakinghands with the devil for the last forty-five minutes."

Don Mike opened his eyes widely. He was rapidly regaining his fullconsciousness. "Your work, Pablo?"

"Mine—with the help of God, as your illustrious grandfather, the firstDon Miguel, would have said. But you are pleased to doubt me so Ishall show you the carcass of the animal. I roped him and dragged himfor two miles behind the black mare."

Don Mike smiled and closed his eyes. "I will go home," he saidpresently, and Pablo and Parker lifted him between them and carried himdown to the waiting wagon. Half an hour later he was stretched on hisbed at the hacienda, while Carolina washed his head with a solution ofwarm water and lysol. John Parker, rejoiced beyond measure, stoodbeside him and watched this operation with an alert and sympathetic eye.

"That doesn't look like a bullet wound," he declared, after anexamination of the rent in Don Mike's scalp. "Resembles the wound madeby what reporters always refer to as 'some blunt instrument.' Thescalp is split but the flesh around the wound is swollen as from ablow. You have a nice lump on your head, Farrel."

"Aches terribly," Don Mike murmured. "I had dismounted to tighten mycinch; going down hill the saddle had slid up on my horse's withers. Iwas tucking in the latigo. When I woke up I was lying on my face,wedged tightly in that little dry ditch; I was ill and dazed and tooweak to pull myself out; I was lying with my head down hill and Isuppose I lost consciousness again, after awhile. Pablo!"

"Si, señor."

"You caught the man who shot me. What did you do with him?"

"Oh, those fellow plenty good and dead, Don Miguel."

"He dragged the body home at the end of his rope," Parker explained."He thought you had been done for and he must have gone war mad. Icovered the body of the Jap with straw from that stack out by the barn."

"Jap, eh?" Don Mike smiled. Then, after a long silence. "I suppose,Mr. Parker, you understand now—"

"Yes, yes, Farrel. Please do not rub it in."

"Okada wants the San Gregorio rather badly, doesn't he? Couldn't wait.The enactment of that anti-alien land bill that will come up in thelegislature next year—do Mrs. Parker and your daughter know about thisattempt to assassinate me?"

"No."

"They must not know. Plant that Jap somewhere and do it quickly.Confound you, Pablo, you should have known better than to drag yourkill home, like an old she-cat bringing in a gopher. As for myhead—well, I was thrown from my horse and struck on a sharp rock. Theladies would be frightened and worried if they thought somebody wasgunning for me. When Bill Conway shows up with your spark plugs I'd beobliged, Mr. Parker, if you'd run me in to El Toro. I'll have to havemy head tailored a trifle, I think."

With a weak wave of his hand he dismissed everybody, so Parker andPablo adjourned to the stables to talk over the events of the morning.Standing patiently at the corral gate they found the gray horse,waiting to be unsaddled—a favor which Pablo proceeded at once toextend.

"Mira!" he called suddenly and directed Parser's attention to thepommel of Don Mike's fancy saddle, The rawhide covering on the shank ofthe pommel had been torn and scored and the steel beneath lay exposed."You see?" Pablo queried. "You understan', señor?"

"No, I must confess I do not, Pablo."

"Don Miguel is standing beside thees horse. He makes tighter thesaddle; he is tying those latigo and he have the head bent leetle hitwhile he pull those latigo through the ring. Bang! Those Jap shoot atDon Miguel. He miss, but the bullet she hit thees pommel, she go flatagainst the steel, she bounce off and hit Don Miguel on top the head.The force for keel heem is use' up when the bullet hit thees pommel,but still those bullet got plenty force for knock Don Miguel seelly,no?"

"Spent ball, eh? I think you're right, Pablo."

Pablo relapsed into one of his infrequent Gringo solecisms. "You betyou my life you know eet," he said.

John Parker took a hundred dollar bill from his pocket. "Pablo," hesaid with genuine feeling, "you're a splendid fellow. I know you don'tlike me, but perhaps that is because you do not know me very well. DonMiguel knows I had nothing to do with this attempt to kill him, and ifDon Miguel bears me no ill-will, I'm sure you should not. I wish youwould accept this hundred dollar bill, Pablo?"

Pablo eyed the bill askance. "What for?" he demanded.

"For the way you handled that murdering Jap. Pablo, that was a bullyjob of work. Please accept this bill. If I didn't like you I wouldnot offer it to you."

"Well, I guess Carolina mebbeso she can use eet. But first I ask DonMiguel if eet is all right for me take eet." He departed for the houseto return presently with an anticipatory smile on his duskycountenance. "Don Miguel say to me, señor: 'Pablo, any people she'sstay my house he's do what she please.' Gracias, Señor Parker." Andhe pouched the bill. "Mille gracias, señor."

"Pray, do not mention it, Pablo."

"All right," Pablo agreed. "Eef you don't like eet, well, I don' tellsomebody!"

CHAPTER XXV

Bill Conway driving up the San Gregorio in his prehistoric automobile,overtook Kay and her mother walking home from the Mission, and drovethem the remainder of the distance back to the hacienda. Arrived here,old Conway resurrected the stolen spark plugs and returned them toParker's chauffeur, after which he invited himself to luncheon.Apparently his raid of the night previous rested lightly on hisconscience, and Parker's failure to quarrel with him lifted himimmediately out of any fogs of apprehension that may have clouded hissunny soul.

"Hello, Conway," Parker greeted him, as the old contractor came intothe dining room and hung his battered old hat on a wall peg. "Did youbring back my spark plugs?"

"Did better'n that," Conway retorted. "The porcelain on one plug wascracked and sooner or later you were bound to have trouble with it. SoI bought you a new one."

"Do any good for yourself in El Toro this morning?"

"Nope. Managed to put over a couple of deals that will help the boyout a little, though. Attached your bank account and your bank stock.I would have plastered your two automobiles, but that tender-heartedMiguel declared that was carrying a grudge too far. By the way, whereis our genial young host?"

"Horse bucked him off this morning. He lit on a rock and ripped afurrow in his sinful young head. So he's sleeping off a headache."

"Oh, is he badly hurt?" Kay cried anxiously.

"Not fatally," Parker replied with a faintly knowing smile. "But he'sweak and dizzy and he's lost a lot of blood; every time he winks forthe next month his head will ache, however."

"Which horse policed him?" Bill Conway queried casually.

"The gray one—his father's old horse."

"Hum-m-m!" murmured Conway and pursued the subject no further, nor didhe evince the slightest interest in the answers which Parker framedglibly to meet the insistent demand for information from his wife anddaughter. The meal concluded, he excused himself and sought Pablo, ofwhom he demanded and received a meticulous account of the "accident" toMiguel Farrel. For Bill Conway knew that the gray horse never buckedand that Miguel Farrel was a hard man to throw.

"Guess I'll have to sit in at this game," he decided, and forthwithclimbed into his rattletrap automobile and returned to El Toro.

During the drive in he surrendered his mind to a contemplation of allof the aspects of the case, and arrived at the following conclusions:

Item. Don Nicolás Sandoval had seen the assassin walking in from thesouth about sunset the day previous. If the fellow had walked all theway across country from La Questa valley he must have started about twoP.M.

Item. The Potato Baron had left the Farrel hacienda about one o'clockthe same day and had, doubtless, arrived in El Toro about two o'clock.Evidently he had communicated with the man from La Questa valley(assuming that Don Miguel's assailant had come from there) by telephonefrom El Toro.

Arrived in El Toro, Bill Conway drove to the sheriff's office. DonNicolás Sandoval had returned an hour previous from the Rancho Palomarand to him Conway related the events of the morning. "Now, Nick," heconcluded, "you drift over to the telephone office and in your officialcapacity cast your eye over the record of long distance telephone callsyesterday afternoon and question the girl on duty."

"Bueno!" murmured Don Nicolás and proceeded at once to the telephoneoffice. Ten minutes later he returned.

"Okada talked to one Kano Ugichi, of La Questa, at 2:08 yesterdayafternoon," he reported.

"Considerable water will run under the bridges before Kano Ugichireturns to the bosom of his family," Conway murmured sympathetically."He's so badly spoiled, Nick, we've decided to call him a total lossand not put up any headstone to his memory. It is Farrel's wish thatthe matter be forgotten by everybody concerned."

"I have already forgotten it, my friend," the urbane Don Nicolásreplied graciously, and Bill Conway departed forthwith for the Hotel deLas Rosas.

"Got a Jap name of Okada stopping here?" he demanded, and was informedthat Mr. Okada occupied room 17, but that he was ill and could not beseen.

"He'll see me," quoth Bill Conway, and clumped up the stairs. Herapped peremptorily on the door of room 17, then tried the knob. Thedoor opened and the old contractor stepped into the room to find thePotato Baron sitting up in bed, staring at him. Uttering no word, BillConway strode to the bed, seized the Japanese by the throat andcommenced to choke him with neatness and dispatch. When the man's facewas turning purple and his eyes rolling wildly, Conway released hisdeath-grip and his victim fell back on the mattress, whereupon BillConway sat down on the edge of the bed and watched life surge back intothe little brown man.

"If you let one little peep out of you, Okada," he threatened—andsnarled ferociously.

"Please, please," Okada pleaded. "I no unnerstan'. 'Scuse, please.You make one big mistake, yes, I zink so."

"I do, indeed. I permit you to live, which I wouldn't do if I knewwhere to hide your body. Listen to me, Okada. You sent a countrymanof yours from the La Questa valley over to the Rancho Palomar to killDon Miguel Farrel. I have the man's name, I know the hour youtelephoned to him, I know exactly what you said to him and how much youpaid him to do the job. Well, this friend of yours overplayed hishand; he didn't succeed in killing Farrel, but he did succeed ingetting himself captured."

He paused, with fine dramatic instinct, to watch the effect of thisbroadside. A faint nervous twitch of the chin and the eyelids—thenabsolute immobility. The Potato Baron had assumed the "poker face" ofall Orientals—wherefore Bill Conway knew the man was on his guard andwould admit nothing. So he decided not to make any effort to elicitinformation, but to proceed on the theory that everything was known tohim.

"Naturally," he continued, "that man Pablo has ways and means of makingeven a stubborn Jap tell everything he knows. Now listen, O child ofNippon, to the white man's words of wisdom. You're going to departfrom El Toro in a general northerly direction and you're going to do itimmediately if not sooner. And you're never coming back. The day youdo, that day you land in the local calaboose with a charge ofconspiracy to commit murder lodged against you. We have the witnessesto prove our case and any time you're tried by a San Marcos County jurybefore a San Marcos County judge you'll rot in San Quentin for life.And further: If Miguel Farrel should, within the next two years, dieout of his own bed and with his boots on, you will be killed on generalprinciples, whether you're guilty or not. Do I make myself clear ormust I illustrate the point with motion pictures?"

"Yes, sir. 'Scuse, please. Yes, sir, I zink I go very quick, sir."

"Three cheers! The sooner the quicker—the next train, let us say.I'll be at the station to see you off."

He was as good as his word. The Potato Baron, mounting painfully thesteps of the observation car, made hasty appraisal of the stationplatform and observed Bill Conway swinging his old legs from his perchon an express truck. He favored Okada with a very deliberate nod and asweeping, semi-military salute of farewell.

When the train pulled out, the old contractor slid off the expresstruck and waddled over to his automobile. "Well, Liz," he addressedthat interesting relic, "I'll bet a red apple I've put the fear ofBuddha in that Jap's soul. He won't try any more tricks in San MarcosCounty. He certainly did assimilate my advice and drag it out of townmuy pronto. Well, Liz, as the feller says: 'The wicked flee when noman pursueth and a troubled conscience addeth speed to the hind legs.'"

As he was driving out of town to the place of his labors at AguaCaliente basin, he passed the Parker limousine driving in. BetweenJohn Parker's wife and John Parker's daughter, Don Miguel José Farrelsat with white face and closed eyes. In the seat beside his chauffeurJohn Parker sat, half turned and gazing at Don Miguel with troubledeyes.

"That girl's sweeter than a royal flush," Bill Conway murmured. "Iwonder if she's good for a fifty thousand dollar touch to pay my cementbill pending the day I squeeze it out of her father? Got to havecement to build a dam—got to have cash to get cement—got to have adam to save the Rancho Palomar—got to have the Rancho Palomar beforewe can pull off a wedding—got to pull off a wedding in order to behappy—got to be happy or we all go to hell together… Well…I'm going down to Miguel's place to dinner to-night. I'll ask her."

The entire Parker family was present when the doctor in El Toro washedand disinfected Farrel's wound and, at the suggestion of Kay, made anX-ray photograph of his head. The plate, when developed, showed asmall fracture, the contemplation of which aroused considerableinterest in all present, with the exception of the patient. Don Mikewas still dizzy; because his vision was impaired he kept his eyesclosed; he heard a humming noise as if a lethargic bumble bee had takenup his residence inside the Farrel ears. Kay, observing him closely,realized that he was very weak, that only by the exercise of a verystrong will had he succeeded in sitting up during the journey in fromthe ranch. His brow was cold and wet with perspiration, his breathingshallow; his dark, tanned face was now a greenish gray.

The girl saw a shadow of deep apprehension settle over her father'sface as the doctor pointed to the fracture. "Any danger?" she heardhim whisper,

The doctor shook his head. "Nothing to worry about. An operation willnot be necessary. But he's had a narrow squeak. With whom has he beenfighting?"

"Thrown from his horse and struck his head on a rock," Parker repliedglibly.

Kay saw the doctor's eyebrows lift slightly. "Did he tell you that waswhat happened?"

Parker hesitated a moment and nodded an affirmative.

"Wound's too clean for that story to impress me," the doctor whispered."Not a speck of foreign matter in it. Moreover, the wound is almost ontop of his head. Now, if he had been thrown from a horse and hadstruck on top of his head on a rock with sufficient force to laceratehis scalp and produce a minor fracture, he would, undoubtedly, havecrushed his skull more thoroughly or broken his neck. Also, his facewould have been marred more or less! And if that isn't good reasoning,I might add that Miguel Farrel is one of the two or three men in thisworld who have ridden Cyclone, the most famous outlaw horse in America."

Parker shrugged and, by displaying no interest in the doctor'sdeductions, brought the conversation to a close.

That the return trip to the ranch, in Don Mike's present condition, wasnot to be thought of, was apparent from the patient's condition. Hewas, therefore, removed to the single small hospital which El Toroboasted, and after seeing him in charge of a nurse the Parker familyreturned to the ranch. Conversation languished during the trip; adisturbed conscience on the part of the father, and on the part of Kayand her mother an intuition, peculiar to their sex and aroused by thedoctor's comments, that events of more than ordinary portent hadoccurred that day, were responsible for this.

At the ranch Parker found his attorney who had motored out from ElToro, waiting to confer with him regarding Bill Conway's adroitmanoeuver of the morning. Mrs. Parker busied herself with some fancywork while her daughter sought the Farrel library and pretended toread. An atmosphere of depression appeared to have settled over therancho; Kay observed that even Pablo moved about in a furtive manner;he cleaned and oiled his rifle and tested the sights with shots atvarying ranges. Carolina's face was grave and her sweet falsetto voicewas not raised in song once during the afternoon.

About four o'clock when the shadows began to lengthen, Kay observedPablo riding forth on his old pinto pony. Before him on the saddle hecarried a pick and shovel and in reply to her query as to what hepurposed doing, he replied that he had to clean out a spring where thecattle were accustomed to drink. So she returned to the library andPablo repaired to a willow thicket in the sandy wash of the SanGregorio and dug a grave. That night, at twilight, while the familyand servants were at dinner, Pablo dragged his problem down to thisgrave, with the aid of the pinto pony, and hid it forever from thesight of men. Neither directly nor indirectly was his exploit everreferred to again and no inquiry was ever instituted to fathom themystery of the abrupt disappearance of Kano Ugichi. Indeed, the soleregret at his untimely passing was borne by Pablo, who, shrinking fromthe task of removing his riata from his victim (for he had a primitiveman's horror of touching the dead), was forced to bury his dearestpossession with the adventurer from La Questa—a circ*mstance whichserved still further to strengthen his prejudice against the Japaneserace.

The following morning Pablo saddled Panchito for Kay and, at herrequest, followed her, in the capacity of groom, to Bill Conway's campat Agua Caliente basin. The old schemer was standing in the door ofhis rough temporary office when Kay rode up; he advanced to meet her.

"Well, young lady," he greeted her, "what's on your mind this morningin addition to that sassy little hat."

"A number of things. I want to know what really happened to Mr. Farrelyesterday forenoon."

"My dear girl! Why do you consult me?"

She leaned from her horse and lowered her voice. "Because I'm yourpartner and between partners there should be no secrets."

"Well, we're supposed to keep it a secret, just to save you and yourmother from worrying, but I'll tell you in confidence if you promisenot to tell a soul I told you."

"I promise."

"Well, then, that scoundrel, Okada, sent a Jap over from La Questavalley to assassinate Miguel and clear the way for your father toacquire this ranch without further legal action and thus enable theirinterrupted land deal to be consummated."

"My father was not a party to that—oh, Mr. Conway, surely you do notsuspect for a moment———"

"Tish! Tush! Of course not. That's why Miguel wanted it given outthat his horse had policed him. Wanted to save you the resultantembarrassment."

"The poor dear! And this wretch from La Questa shot him?"

"Almost."

"What became of the assassin?"

Bill Conway pursed his tobacco-stained lips and whistled a few bars of"Listen to the Mocking Bird." Subconsciously the words of the songcame to Kay's mind.

She's sleeping in the valley,
In the valley,
She's sleeping in the valley,
And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.

"I'm afraid I don't want to discuss that boy and his future movements,Miss Parker," he sighed presently. "I might compromise a third party.In the event of a show-down I do not wish to be forced under oath totell what I know—or suspect. However, I am in a position to assureyou that Oriental activities on this ranch have absolutely ceased. Mr.Okada has been solemnly assured that, in dealing with certain whitemen, they will insist upon an eye for an optic and a tusk for a tooth;he knows that if he starts anything further he will go straight to thatundiscovered country where the woodbine twineth and the whangdoodlemourneth for its mate."

"What has become of Okada?"

"He has dragged it out of here—drifted and went hence—for keeps."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." With an unclean thumb Mr. Conwaydrew a large X on the geometrical center of his ample circumference."When you've been in the contracting business as long as I have, MissParker," he continued sagely, "you'll learn never to leave importantdetails to a straw boss. Attend to 'em yourself—and get your regularration of sleep. That's my motto."

She beamed gratefully upon him. "Need any money, Bill, old timer?" sheflashed at him suddenly, with delightful camaraderie.

"There should be no secrets between partners. I do."

"Quanto?"

"Cinquenta mille pesos oro, señorita."

"Help!"

"Fifty thousand bucks, iron men, simoleons, smackers, dollars———"

She reached down and removed a fountain pen from his upper vest pocket.Then she drew a check book and, crooking her knee over Panchito's neckand using that knee for a desk, she wrote him a check on a New Yorkbank for fifty thousand dollars.

"See here," Bill Conway demanded, as she handed him the check, "howmuch of a roll you got, young woman?"

"About two hundred thousand in cash and half a million in Libertybonds. When I was about five years old my uncle died and left me hisestate, worth about a hundred thousand. It has grown under my father'smanagement. He invested heavily in Steel Common, at the outbreak ofthe war, and sold at the top of the market just before the armisticewas signed."

"Well," Conway sighed, "there is a little justice in the world, afterall. Here at last, is one instance where the right person to handlemoney gets her hands on a sizable wad of it. But what I want to know,my dear young lady, is this: Why purchase philanthropy in fiftythousand dollar installments? If you want to set that boy's mind atease, loan him three hundred thousand dollars to take up the mortgageyour father holds on his ranch; then take a new mortgage in your ownname to secure the loan. If you're bound to save him in the long run,why keep the poor devil in suspense?"

She made a little moue of distaste. "I loathe business. The loaningof money on security—the taking advantage of another's distress. Mr.Bill, it never made a hit with me. I'm doing this merely because Irealize that my father's course, while strictly legal, is not kind. Irefuse to permit him to do that sort of thing to a Medal of Honor man."He noticed a pretty flush mount to her lovely cheeks. "It isn'tsporty, Mr. Bill Conway. However, it isn't nice to tell one'sotherwise lovable father that he's a poor sport and a Shylock, is it?I cannot deliberately pick a fight with my father by interfering in hisbusiness affairs, can I? Also, it seems to me that Don Mike Farrel'spride is too high to permit of his acceptance of a woman's pity. I donot wish him to be under obligation to me. He might misconstrue mymotive—oh, you understand, don't you? I'm sure I'm in an extremelydelicate position."

He nodded sagely. "Nevertheless," he pursued, "he will be underobligation to you."

"He will never know it. I depend upon you to keep my secret. He willthink himself under obligation to you—and you're such an old and dearfriend. Men accept obligations from each other and think nothing ofit. By the way, I hold you responsible for the return of that fiftythousand dollars, not Don Mike Farrel. You are underwriting his battlewith my father, are you not?"

"Yes, I am," he retorted briskly, "and I've got more conceit than abarber's cat for daring to do it. Wait a minute and I'll give you mypromissory note. I'm paying seven per cent for bank accommodationslately. That rate of interest suit you?"

She nodded and followed him to his office, where he laboriously wroteand signed a promissory note in her favor. Pablo, remaining politelyout of sound of their conversation, wondered vaguely what they were upto.

"Don Mike has told us something of the indolent, easy-going natures ofhis people," Kay continued, as she tucked the note in her coat pocket."I have wondered if, should, he succeed in saving his ranch without toogreat an expenditure of effort, he would continue to cast off the spellof 'the splendid, idle forties' and take his place in a world of alertcreators and producers. Do you not think, Mr. Bill, that he will bethe gainer through my policy of keeping him in ignorance of my part inthe re-financing of his affairs—if he dare not be certain of victoryup to the last moment? Of course it would be perfectly splendid if hecould somehow manage to work out his own salvation, but of course, ifhe is unable to do that his friends must do it for him. I think itwould be perfectly disgraceful to permit a Medal of Honor man to beruined, don't you, Mr. Bill?"

"Say, how long have you known this fellow Miguel?"

"Seventy-two hours, more or less."

He considered. "Your father's nerve has been pretty badly shaken bythe Jap's attempt to kill Miguel. He feels about that pretty much as adog does when he's caught sucking eggs. Why not work on your fathernow while he's in an anti-Jap mood? You might catch him on therebound, so to speak. Take him over to La Questa valley some day thisweek and show him a little Japan; show him what the San Gregorio willlook like within five years if he persists. Gosh, woman, you have someinfluence with him haven't you?"

"Very little in business affairs, I fear."

"Well, you work on him, anyhow, and maybe he'll get religion and renewMiguel's mortgage. Argue that point about giving a Medal of Honor mananother chance."

The girl shook her head. "It would be useless," she assured him. "Hehas a curious business code and will not abandon it. He will onlyquote some platitude about mixing sentiment and business."

"Then I suppose the battle will have to go the full twenty rounds.Well, Miss Parker, we're willing. We've already drawn first blood andwith your secret help we ought to about chew the tail off your old man."

"Cheerio." She held out her dainty little gloved hand to him. "See mewhen you need more money, Mr. Bill. And remember! If you tell on meI'll never, never forgive you."

He bent over her hand and kissed it. His caress was partly reverence,partly a habit of courtliness surviving from a day that is done inCalifornia, for under that shabby old tweed suit there beat the gallantheart of a true cavalier.

When Miss Parker had ridden away with Pablo at her heels, Bill Conwayunburdened himself of a slightly ribald little chanson entitled: "WhatMakes the Wild Cat Wild?" In the constant repetition of this query itappeared that the old Californian sought the answer to a riddle noteven remotely connected with the mystifying savagery of non-domesticfelines.

Suddenly he slapped his thigh. "Got it," he informed the payroll hehad been trying to add for half an hour. "Got it! She does love him.Her explanation of her action is good but not good enough for me.Medal of Honor man! Rats. She could loan him the money to pay herfather, on condition that her father should never know the source ofthe aid, but if they reduced their association to a business basis hewould have to decide between the ranch and her. She knows how he lovesthis seat of his ancestors—she fears for the decision. And if hedecided for the ranch there would be no reasonable excuse for theParker family to stick around, would there? There would not. So he isnot to be lost sight of for a year. Yes, of course that's it.Methinks the lady did protest too much. God bless her. I wonder whathe thinks of her. One can never tell. It might be just her luck tofail to make a hit with him. Oh, Lord, if that happened I'd shoot him,I would for a fact. Guess I'll drop in at the ranch some day next weekand pump the young idiot… No, I'll not. My business is buildingdams and bridges and concrete highways… well, I might take achance and sound him out… still, what thanks would I get… no,I'll be shot if I will… oh, to the devil with thanks. If he don'tlike it he can lump it…"

"What makes the wild cat wild, boys,
Oh, what makes the wild cat wild?"

CHAPTER XXVI

It was fully two weeks before Miguel returned to the ranch from thelittle hospital at El Toro. During that period the willows had alreadystarted to sprout on the last abiding place of Kano Ugichi, the painhad left the Farrel head and the Farrel attorney had had AndréLoustalot up in the Superior Court, where he had won a drawn verdict.The cash in bank was proved to have been deposited there by Loustalotpersonally; it had been subject to his personal check, and wasaccordingly adjudged to be his personal property and ordered turnedover to Miguel Farrel in partial liquidation of the ancient judgmentwhich Farrel held against the Basque. A preponderance of testimony,however (Don Nicolás Sandoval swore it was all perjured and paid for)indicated that but one quarter of the sheep found on the Rancho Palomarbelonged to Loustalot, the remainder being owned by his foreman andemployees. To Farrel, therefore, these sheep were awarded, and in someoccult manner Don Nicolás Sandoval selected them from the flock; then,acting under instructions from Farrel, he sold the sheep back toLoustalot at something like a dollar a head under the market value andleased to the amazed Basque for one year the grazing privilege on theRancho Palomar. In return for the signing of this lease and thepayment of the lease money in advance, Farrel executed to Loustalot asatisfaction in full of the unpaid portion of the judgment. "For," asthe sheriff remarked to Farrel, "while you hold the balance of thatjudgment over this fellow's head your own head is in danger. It isbest to conciliate him, for you will never again have an opportunity tolevy against his assets."

"I think you're right, Don Nicolás," Farrel agreed. "I can never feelwholly safe until I strike a truce with that man. Tell him I'll givehim back his eight thousand dollar automobile if he will agree on hisown behalf and that of his employees, agents and friends, not tobushwhack me or any person connected with me."

"I have already made him a tentative offer to that effect, my boy, and,now that the first flush of his rage is over, he is a coyote lackingthe courage to kill. He will agree to your proposal, and I shall takeoccasion to warn him that if he should ever break his word while I amliving, I shall consider, in view of the fact that I am the mediator inthis matter, that he has broken faith with me, and I shall actaccordingly."

The arrangement with Loustalot was therefore made, and immediately uponhis return to the ranch Farrel, knowing that the sheep would spoil hisrange for the few hundred head of cattle that still remained of thethousands that once had roamed El Palomar, rounded up these cattle andsold them. And it was in the performance of this duty that hediscovered during the roundup, on the trail leading from the haciendato Agua Caliente basin, a rectangular piece of paper. It lay, somewhatweather-stained, face up beside the trail, and because it resembled acheck, he leaned easily from his horse and picked it up. To hisamazement he discovered it to be a promissory note, in the sum of fiftythousand dollars, in favor of Kay Parker and signed by William D.Conway.

Pablo was beating the thickets in the river bottom, searching out somespring calves he knew were lurking there, when his master reined upbeside him.

"Pablo," he demanded, "has Señor Conway been to the ranch during myabsence?"

"No, Don Miguel, he has not."

"Has Señorita Parker ridden Panchito over to Señor Conway's camp atAgua Caliente basin?"

"Yes, Don Miguel. I rode behind her, in case of accident."

"What day was that?"

Pablo considered. "The day after you were shot, Don Miguel."

"Did you see Señorita Parker give Señor Conway a writing?"

"I did, truly. She wrote from a small leathern book and tore out thepage whereon she wrote. In return Señor Conway made a writing and thishe gave to Señorita Parker who accepted it.

"Thank you, Pablo. That is all I desired to know." And he was awayagain, swinging his lariat and whooping joyously at the cattle. Pablowatched narrowly.

"Now whatever this mystery may be," he soliloquized, "the news I gaveDon Miguel has certainly not displeased him. Ah, he is a sharp one,that boy. He learns everything and without effort, yet for all heknows he talks but little. Can it be that he has the gift of secondsight? I wonder!"

CHAPTER XXVII

Kay Parker was seated on the bench under the catalpa tree when MiguelFarrel rode up the palm-lined avenue to the hacienda, that night; hisface, as he dismounted before her, conveyed instantly to the girl theimpression that he was in a more cheerful and contented mood than shehad observed since that day she had first met him in uniform.

She smiled a welcome. He swept off his hat and favored her with a bowwhich appeared to Kay to be slightly more ceremonious than usual.

"Your horse is tired," she remarked. "Are you?"

"'Something accomplished, something done, has earned a night'srepose,'" he quoted cheerfully. "Rather a hard task to comb this ranchfor a few hundred head of cattle when the number of one's riders islimited, but we have gotten the herd corraled at the old race-track."He unbuckled his old leathern chaps, and stepped out of them, threwthem across the saddle and with a slap sent his horse away to the barn.

"You're feeling quite yourself again?" she hazarded hopefully.

"My foolish head doesn't bother me," he replied smilingly, "but myequally foolish heart—" he heaved a gusty Castilian sigh and tried toappear forlorn.

"Filled with mixed metaphors," he added. "May I sit here with you?"

She made room for him beside her on the bench. He seated himself,leaned back against the bole of the catalpa tree and stretched hislegs, cramped from a long day in the saddle. The indolent gaze of hisblack eyes roved over her approvingly before shifting to the shadowybeauty of the valley and the orange-hued sky beyond, and a silence fellbetween them.

"I was thinking to-day," the girl said presently, "that you've been sobusy since your return you haven't had time to call on any of your oldfriends."

"That is true, Miss Parker."

"You have called me Kay," she reminded him. "Wherefore this suddenformality, Don Mike?"

"My name is Miguel. You're right, Kay. Fortunately, all of my friendscalled on me when I was in the hospital, and at that time I took painsto remind them that my social activities would be limited for at leasta year."

"Two of your friends called on mother and me today, Miguel."

"Anita Sepulvida and her mother?"

"Yes. She's adorable."

"They visited me in hospital. Very old friends—very dear friends. Iasked them to call on you and your mother. I wanted you to know Anita."

"She's the most beautiful and charming girl I have ever met."

"She is beautiful and charming. Her family, like mine, had becomemore or less decayed about the time I enlisted, but fortunately hermother had a quarter section of land down in Ventura County and when awild-cat oil operator on adjacent land brought in a splendid well,Señora Sepulvida was enabled to dispose of her land at a thousanddollars an acre and a royalty of one-eighth on all of the oil produced.The first well drilled was a success and in a few years the Sepulvidafamily will be far wealthier than it ever was. Meanwhile their ranchhere has been saved from loss by foreclosure. Old Don Juan, Anita'sfather, is dead."

"Anita is the only child, is she not?"

He nodded. "Ma Sepulvida is a lady of the old school," he continued."Very dignified, very proud of her distinguished descent———"

"And very fond of you," Kay interrupted.

"Always was, Kay. She's an old peach. Came to the hospital and criedover me and wanted to loan me enough money to lift the mortgage on myranch."

"Then—then—your problem is—solved," Kay found difficulty in voicingthe sentence.

He nodded. She turned her face away that he might not see the pallorthat overspread it. "It is a very great comfort to me," he resumedpresently, "to realize that the world is not altogether barren of loveand kindness."

"It must be," she murmured, her face still averted.

"It was the dearest wish of my poor father and of Anita's that theancient friendship between the families should be cemented by amarriage between Anita and me. For me Señora Sepulvida would be amarvelous mother-in-law, because she's my kind of people and weunderstand each other. Really, I feel tremendously complimentedbecause, even before the oil strike saved the family from financialruin, Anita did not lack opportunities for many a more brilliant match."

"She's—dazzling," Kay murmured drearily. "What a brilliant wife shewill be for you!"

"Anita is far too fine a woman for such a sacrifice. I've alwaysentertained a very great affection for her and she for me. There'sonly one small bug in our amber."

"And that———"

"We aren't the least bit in love with each other. We're children of alater day and we object to the old-fashioned method of a marriagearranged by papa and mama. I know there must be something radicallywrong with me; otherwise I never could resist Anita."

"But you are going to marry her, are you not?"

"I am not. She wouldn't marry me on a bet. And of course I didn'taccept her dear old mother's offer of financial aid. Couldn't, underthe circ*mstances, and besides, it would not be kind of me to transfermy burden to them. I much prefer to paddle my own canoe."

He noticed a rush of color to the face as she turned abruptly towardhim now. "What a heritage of pride you have, Miguel. But are youquite certain Anita does not love you? You should have heard all thenice things she said about you to-day."

"She ought to say nice things about me," he replied casually. "Whenshe was quite a little girl she was given to understand that herultimate mission in life was to marry me. Of course I always realizedthat it would not be a compliment to Anita to indicate that I was nothead over heels in love with her; I merely pretended I was too bashfulto mention it. Finally one day Anita suggested, as a favor to her andfor the sake of my own self-respect, that I abandon the pose; withtears in her eyes she begged me to be a gallant rebel and save her fromthe loving solicitude of her parents to see her settled in life. Atthat moment I almost loved her, particularly when, having assured herof my entire willingness and ability to spoil everything, she kissed merapturously on both cheeks and confided to me that she was secretlyengaged to an engineer chap who was gophering for potash in DeathValley. The war interrupted his gophering, but Anita informs me thathe found the potash, and now he can be a sport and bet his potashagainst Señora Sepulvida's crude oil. Fortunately, my alleged deathgave Anita an opportunity to advance his claims, and he was in a fairway of becoming acceptable until my unexpected return rather greasedthe skids for him. Anita's mother is trying to give the poor devil thedouble-cross now, but I told Anita she needn't worry."

Kay's eyes danced with merriment—and relief. "But," she persisted,"you told me your problem was settled? And it isn't."

"It is. I'm going to sell about eighteen thousand dollars worth ofcattle off this ranch, and I've leased the valley grazing privilege forone year for ten thousand dollars. My raid on Loustalot netted mesixty-seven thousand dollars, so that my total bankroll is now aboutninety-five thousand dollars. At first I thought I'd let Bill Conwayhave most of my fortune to help him complete that dam, but I have nowdecided to stop work on the dam and use all of my energy and my fortuneto put through such other deals as may occur to me. If I am lucky Ishall emerge with sufficient funds to save the ranch. If I am unlucky,I shall lose the ranch. Therefore, the issue is decided. 'God's inhis Heaven; all's right with the world.' What have you been doing allday?"

"Painting and sketching. I'll never be a worth-while artist, but Ilike to paint things for myself. I've been trying to depict on canvasthe San Gregorio in her new spring gown, as you phrase it. The arrivalof the Sepulvida family interrupted me, and I've been sitting heresince they departed. We had tea."

"Getting a trifle bored with the country, Kay? I fancy you find itlonely out here."

"It was a trifle quiet while you were in hospital. Now that you'reback I suppose we can ride occasionally and visit some of the places oflocal interest."

"By all means. As soon as I get rid of that little bunch of cattle I'mgoing to give a barbecue and festival to the countryside in honor of myguests. We'll eat a half dozen fat two-year-old steers and about athousand loaves of bread and a couple of barrels of claret and a hugemess of chilli sauce. When I announce in the El Toro Sentinel thatI'm going to give a fiesta and that everybody is welcome, all myfriends and their friends and relatives will come and I'll be sparedthe trouble of visiting them individually. Don Nicolás Sandovalremarked when he collected that Loustalot judgment for me that hesupposed I'd do the decent thing, now that I could afford it. MotherSepulvida suggested it and Anita seconded the motion. It will probablybe the last event of its kind on such a scale ever given in California,and when it is finished it will have marked my transition from anindolent ranchero to some sort of commercial go-getter."

"I see. Little Mike, the Hustler."

He nodded, rose and stood before her, smiling down at her with aninscrutable little smile. "Will you motor me in to El Toro to-morrowmorning?" he pleaded. "I must go there to arrange for cattle cars."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Kay. Now, if I have your permission to withdraw, I think Ishall make myself presentable for dinner."

He hesitated a moment before withdrawing, however, meanwhile gazingdown on her with a gaze so intent that the girl flushed a little.Suddenly his hand darted out and he had her adorable little chinclasped between his brown thumb and forefinger, shaking it with littleshakes of mock ferocity. He seemed about to deliver some importantannouncement—impassioned, even, but to her huge disgust he smotheredthe impulse, jerked his hand away as if he had scorched his fingers,and blushed guiltily. "Oh, I'm a sky-blue idiot," he half growled andleft her abruptly.

A snort—to a hunter it would have been vaguely reminiscent of that ofan old buck deer suddenly disturbed in a thicket—caused her to lookup. At the corner of the wall Pablo Artelan stood, staring at her withalert interest; his posture was one of a man suddenly galvanized intoimmobility. Kay blushed, but instantly decided to appear nonchalant.

"Good evening, Pablo," she greeted the majordomo. "How do you feelafter your long, hard day on the range?"

"Gracias, mees. Myself, I feel pretty good. When my boss heeshappy—well—Pablo Artelan hees happy just the same."

The girl noted his emphasis. "That's very nice of you, Pablo, I'msure. Have you any idea," she continued with bland innocence, "why DonMiguel is so happy this evening?"

Pablo leaned against the adobe wall, thoughtfully drew forth tobaccobag and brown cigarette paper and, while shaking his head and appearingto ponder Kay's question, rolled a cigarette and lighted it. "We-l-l,señorita," he began presently, "I theenk first mebbeso eet eesbecause Don Miguel find heem one leetle piece paper on the trail. I amsee him peeck those paper up and look at heem for long time before heride to me and ask me many question about the señorita and Señor BeelConway those day we ride to Agua Caliente. He say to me: 'Pablo, yousee Señor Beel Conway give to the señorita a writing?' 'Si, señor.''You see Señorita Parker give to Señor Beel Conway a writing?' 'Si,señor.' Then Don Miguel hee's don' say sometheeng more, but justshake hees cabeza like thees," and Pablo gave an imitation of amuchly puzzled man wagging his head to stimulate a flow of ideas.

A faintness seized the girl. "Didn't he say—anything?" she demandedsharply.

"Oh, well, yes, he say sometheeng. He say: 'Well, I'bedam!' Then thatleetle smile he don' have for long time come back to Don Miguel's faceand hee's happy like one baby. I don' understand those boy ontil I seethees business"—Pablo wiggled his tobacco-stained thumb andforefinger—"then I know sometheeng! For long time those boy hee'spretty parteecular. Even those so beautiful señorita, 'NitaSepulvida, she don' rope those boy like you rope it, señorita." Andwith the license of an old and trusted servant, the sage of Palomarfavored her with a knowing wink.

"He knows—he knows!" the girl thought. "What must he think of me!Oh, dear, oh, dear! if he mentions the subject to me I shall die."Tears of mortification were in her eyes as she turned angrily upon theamazed Pablo. "You—you—old sky-blue idiot!" she charged and fled toher room.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Kay's first coherent thought was to claim the privilege of her sex—aheadache—and refrain from joining Don Mike and her parents at dinner.Upon consideration, however, she decided that since she would have toface the issue sooner or later, she might as well be brave and not tryto evade it. For she knew now the fate of the promissory note BillConway had given her and which she had thrust into the pocket of herriding coat. It had worked out of her pocket and dropped beside thetrail to Agua Caliente Basin, and fate had ordained that it should befound by the one person in the world not entitled to that privilege.Kay would have given fifty thousand dollars for some miraculous philterwhich, administered surreptitiously to Miguel Farrel, would cause himto forget what the girl now realized he knew of her secret negotiationswith Bill Conway for the salvation of the ranch. Nevertheless, despiteher overwhelming embarrassment and distress, the question occurred toher again and again: What would Don Miguel Farrel do about it? Shehadn't the slightest doubt but that his tremendous pride would lead himto reject her aid and comfort, but how was he to accomplish thisdelicate procedure? The situation was fraught with as much awkwardnessand embarrassment for him as for her.

She was late in joining the others at table. To her great relief,after rising politely at her entrance and favoring her with animpersonal smile, Farrel sat down and continued to discuss with JohnParker and his wife the great natural resources of Siberia and thedesigns of the Japanese empire upon that territory. About the time theblack coffee made its appearance, Kay's harassed soul had foundsanctuary in the discussion of a topic which she knew would be ofinterest—one in which she felt she could join exuberantly.

"Do tell father and mother of your plans for a fiesta, Miguel," shepleaded presently.

"A fiesta, eh?" Mrs. Parker was instantly interested. "Miguel, thatis, indeed, a bright thought. I volunteer as a patroness here and now.John, you can be a judge of the course, or something. Miguel, what isthe occasion of your fiesta?"

"At a period in the world's history, Mrs. Parker, when butter is adollar a pound and blue-denim over-alls sell freely for three dollars apair, I think we ought to do something to dissipate the general gloom.I want to celebrate my return to civil life, and my more recent returnfrom the grave. Also, I would just as lief indicate to the county atlarge that, outside of business hours, we constitute a very happylittle family here; so if you all please, I shall announce a fiestain honor of the Parker family."

"It will last all day and night and we are to have a Wild West show,"Kay added eagerly.

"Where will it be held, Miguel?"

"Down at our old abandoned race-track, about a mile from here."

Mrs. Parker nodded approval. "John, you old dud," she decided, "youalways liked horse-races and athletics. You're stuck for some prizes."

Her indulgent husband good-naturedly agreed, and at Kay's suggestion,Carolina brought a pencil and a large writing-tablet, whereupon thegirl constituted herself secretary of the carnival committee and wrotethe program, as arranged by Don Mike and her father. She thrilled whenFarrel announced a race of six furlongs for ladies' saddle-horses, tobe ridden by their owners.

"You ought to win that with Panchito," he suggested to Kay.

Kay's heart beat happily. In Farrel's suggestion that she ridePanchito in this race she decided that here was evidence that her hostdid not contemplate any action that would tend to render the ranchuntenable for her prior to the fiesta; indeed, there was nothing inhis speech or bearing that indicated the slightest mental perturbationnow that he had discovered the compact existing between her and BillConway. Perhaps his pride was not so high as she had rated it; what ifher action had been secretly pleasing to him?

Somehow, Kay found this latter thought disturbing and distasteful. Itwas long past midnight before she could dismiss the enigma from herthoughts and fall asleep.

It was later than that, however, before Don Miguel José FedericoNoriaga Farrel dismissed her from his thoughts and succumbed to thearms of Morpheus. For quite a while after retiring to his room he saton the edge of the bed, rubbing his toes with one hand and holding BillConway's promissory note before him with the other.

"That girl and her mother are my secret allies," he soliloquized."Bless their dear kind hearts. Kay has confided in Conway and forreasons best known to himself he has secretly accepted of her aid. NowI wonder," he continued, "what the devil actuates her to double-crossher own father in favor of a stranger?"

He tucked the note back in his pocket, removed a sock and rubbed theother foot thoughtfully. "Well, whatever happens," he decidedeventually, "I've got to keep my secret to myself, while at the sametime effectually preventing this young lady from advancing Bill Conwayany further funds for my relief. I cannot afford her pity or hercharity; I can accept her sympathy, but not her aid. Conway cannothave so soon spent much of the money he borrowed from her, and if Iinsist on the cessation of operations in the Basin he'll promptly giveher back her fifty thousand dollars in order to save the interestcharges; in the meantime I shall mail Kay the note in a plain whiteenvelope, with the address typewritten, so she will never know where itcame from, for of course she'll have to hand Bill back his cancelednote when he pays it."

He blew out the light and retired, not to sleep, but to revolve planafter plan for the salvation of the ranch. To float a new loan fromany source in San Marcos County he dismissed for the hundredth time asa proposition too nebulous for consideration. His only hope of a bankloan lay in an attempt to interest outside bankers to a point wherethey would consent to have the property appraised. Perhaps the letterfrom Parker which he held would constitute evidence to cautiouscapitalists of the sufficiency of the security for the loan. It wasfor that purpose that he had cunningly inveigled Parker into making himthat offer to clear out and leave him a fair field and no litigation.However, Don Mike knew that between bankers there exists a certainmutual dependence, a certain cohesiveness that makes for mutualprotection. If, for instance (he told himself), he should apply to aSan Francisco bank for a loan on the ranch, the bank, prior to wastingeither time or mental energy on his application, would first ascertainfrom sources other than him, whether it was remotely worth whileconsidering the loan up to a point of sending a representative down toappraise the land. Their first move, therefore, would be to writetheir correspondent in El Toro—John Parker's bank, the FirstNational—for information regarding the Farrel family, the ranch andthe history of the mortgage. Don Mike was not such an optimist as tobelieve that the report of Parker's bank would be such as to encouragethe outside bank to proceed further in the deal.

He was also aware that the loan would not be attractive to commercialbanks, who are forced, in self-protection, to loan their money onliquid assets. He must therefore turn to the savings-banks and trustcompanies. But here again he faced an impasse. Such institutions loanmoney for the purpose of securing interest on it; the last thing theywish to do is to be forced, in the protection of the loan, to foreclosea mortgage. Hence, should they entertain the slightest doubt of hisinability to repay the mortgage; should they be forced to consider theprobability of foreclosure eventually, he knew they would not considerthe loan. Don Mike was bitterly aware of the fact that the history ofhis family bad been one of waste, extravagance, carelessness andinefficiency. In order to place the ranch on a paying basis and takeup John Parker's mortgage, therefore, he would have to have a new loanof not less than half a million dollars, and at six per cent., thelowest rate of interest he could hope to obtain, his annual interestcharge would be thirty thousand dollars. Naturally he would beexpected to repay the loan gradually—say at the rate of fifty thousanddollars a year. By running ten thousand head of cattle on the Palomarhe knew he could meet his payments of interest and principal withoutlessening his working capital, but he could not do it by attempting toraise scrub beef cattle. He would gradually produce a herd ofpure-bred Herefords, but in the meantime he would have to buy"feeders," grow them out on the Palomar range and sell them at aprofit. During the present high price of beef cattle, he dared notgamble on borrowed capital, else with a slump in prices he might bedestroyed. It would be a year or two, at least, before he might acceptthat risk; indeed, the knowledge of this condition had induced him tolease the San Gregorio for one year to the Basque sheep man, AndréLoustalot. If, in the interim, he should succeed in saving the ranch,he knew that a rest of one year would enable the range to recover fromthe damage inflicted upon it by the sheep.

In his desolation there came to him presently a wave of the strongreligious faith that was his sole unencumbered heritage. Once again hewas a trustful little boy. He slid out of the great bed of hisancestors and knelt on the old rag mat beside it; he poured out anappeal for help from One who, he had been told—who, he trulybelieved—marked the sparrow's fall. Don Mike was far from being theorthodox person one ordinarily visualizes in a Spanish-Irish Catholic,but he was deeply religious, his religious impulse taking quitenaturally a much more practical form and one most pleasing to himselfand his neighbors, in that it impelled him to be brave and kind andhopeful, a gentleman in all that the word implies. He valued far morethan he did the promise of a mansion in the skies a certaintranquillity of spirit which comes of conscious virtue.

When he rose from his knees he had a feeling that God had not losttrack of him and that, despite a long list of debit entries, acelestial accountant had, at some period in Don Mike's life, posted aconsiderable sum to his credit in the Book of Things. "That credit mayjust balance the account," he reflected, "although it is quite probableI am still working in the red ink. Well—I've asked Him for theprivilege of overdrawing my account… we shall see what we shallsee."

At daylight he awakened suddenly and found himself quite mysteriouslythe possessor of a trend of reasoning that automatically forced him tosit up in bed.

Fifteen minutes later, mounted on Panchito, he was cantering up the SanGregorio, and just as the cook at Bill Conway's camp at Agua CalienteBasin came to the door of the mess hall and yelled: "Come an' git it orI'll throw it out," Panchito slid down the gravel cut-bank into camp.

"Where is Mr. Conway?" he demanded of the cook,

The latter jerked a greasy thumb toward the interior of the mess hall,so, leaving Panchito "tied to the breeze," Don Mike dismounted andentered.

"Hello there, young feller," Bill Conway roared at him.

"Top o' the morning to you, old dirt-digger," Farrel replied. "Pleasedeal me a hand of your ham and eggs, sunny side up. How be ye, Willum?"

"R'arin' to go," Conway assured him.

"All right. Pack up and go to-day. You're through on this job."

"Why?"

"I've changed my mind about fighting Parker on this dam deal—and noprofanity intended."

"But—but———"

"But me no buts, even if you are the goat. You're through. I forbidthe bans. The eggs, man! I'm famished. The midnight ride of PaulRevere was a mere exercise gallop, because he started shortly aftersupper, but the morning ride of Mike Farrel has been done on fresh air."

"You're a lunatic. If you knew what I know, Miguel———"

"Hush! I want to ascertain what you know. Bet you a dollar!" Heslammed a dollar down on the table and held his palm over it.

Bill Conway produced a dollar and likewise covered it. "Very well,son," he replied. "I'll see your dollar. What's the nature of thebet?"

"I'm betting a dollar you didn't draw the plans for this dam."

Bill Conway flipped his dollar over to his guest.

"I'm betting two dollars!"

Conway took two silver dollars from his vest pocket and laid them onthe table. "And the bet?" he queried.

"I'm betting two dollars the plans were drawn by an engineer in LosAngeles."

"Some days I can't lay up a cent," the old contractor complained, andparted with his two dollars.

"I'm betting four dollars!" Farrel challenged.

"See your four dollars," Conway retorted and covered the bet.

"I'm betting that those plans were drawn by the engineer of the SouthCoast Power Corporation."

"Death loves a shining mark, Michael, my boy. Hand over that fourdollars."

Farrel produced a five dollar bill. "I'm betting five dollars," hechallenged again.

"Not with me, son. You're too good. I suppose your next bet will bethat the plans were drawn by the engineer of the Central CaliforniaPower Company."

"Were they?"

"Yes."

"Got a set of the plans with his name on them?"

"You bet."

"I want them."

"They're yours, provided you tell your Uncle Bill the Big Idea."

Don Mike flipped some pepper and salt on his eggs and while doing soproceeded to elucidate.

"If I had two projects in mind—one for irrigation and one for power, Iwould not, of course, unless I happened to be a public servicecorporation engaged in producing and selling electric power, considerfor a moment wasting my time monkeying with the hydro-electricbuzz-saw. Indeed, I would have to sell it, for with the juicedeveloped here I could not hope to compete in a limited field with theestablished power companies. I would proceed to negotiate the sale ofthis by-product to the highest bidder. Bill, do you know that I'veseen enough flood water running down the San Gregorio every winter tohave furnished, if it could have been stored in Agua Caliente Basin,sufficient water to irrigate the San Gregorio Valley for five years?"

"I know it, Miguel."

"All a power company requires is the assurance that the dam you arebuilding will impound in the Agua Caliente Basin during an ordinarilywet winter, sufficient run-off water to insure them against a shortageduring the summer. After the water has passed over their wheelsthey're through with it and it can be used for irrigation, can it not?"

"Yes, of course, although you'd have to have a greater volume of waterthan the amount coming through the power company's pen-stocks. Butthat's easily arranged. Two ditches, Miguel!"

"If the engineer of the Central California Power Company had notexamined the possibilities here and approved of them, it is reasonableto suppose that he would not have drawn the plans and Parker would nothave engaged you to build the dam."

"You're on the target, son. Go on."

"Then Parker must have entered into an agreement to sell, and theCentral California Power Company must have agreed to buy, if and whenParker could secure legal title to the Rancho Palomar, a certain numberof miner's inches of water daily, in perpetuity, together with certainlands for a power station and a perpetual right of way for their powerlines over the lands of this ranch."

"Well, son, that's what I would have done in a similar situation.Nothing to be made by letting that hydro-electric opportunity liefallow. No profit in wasting kilowatts, Miguel. We haven't got athird of the power necessary for the proper development/of this state."

"In the absence of conclusive proof to the contrary, Bill, I amconvinced that John Parker did enter into such a contract. Naturally,until he should secure the title to the ranch, the railroad commission,which regulates all public service corporations in this state, wouldnot grant the power company permission to gamble on the truth of anofficial report that I had been killed in Siberia."

"Your reasoning is sound. Now eat, and after breakfast I'll tell youthings. Your visit and your eager inquiries have started a train ofthought in my thick head."

Don Mike obeyed, and while he devoted himself to his breakfast, oldBill Conway amused himself rolling pellets out of bread and flippingthem at a knot-hole in the rough wall of the mess hall.

"You've been pretty well troubled, haven't you, son?" he remarkedpaternally when Don Mike, having completed his meal, sat back andcommenced rolling a cigarette.

"Si. Got your train of thought ditched, Bill?"

"I have. Assuming that Parker has made a deal with the CentralCalifornia Power Company, what I want to know is: Why did he do it?"

"I've just told you why he did it."

"You've just told me why he would make a deal with a power company, butyou haven't explained why he should make a deal with this particularpower company."

"I cannot answer that question, Bill."

"Nor can I. But there's a reason—perhaps two reasons. Territorially,this power site is the natural property of but two powercorporations—the Central California and the South Coast. The SouthCoast is the second largest corporation of its kind in the state; theCentral California is the fifth. Why go gunning for a dickey bird whenyou can tie up to an eagle?"

They were both silent, pondering the question. Then said Bill Conway,"Well, son, if I had as much curiosity regarding the reason for thissituation as you have, I'd most certainly spend some money to find out."

"I have the money and I am prepared to spend it. How would you start,Bill?"

"Well, I'd buy a couple of shares of stock, in the Central CaliforniaPower Company as a starter. Then I would descend upon the main officeof the company, exhibit my stock and claim my stockholder's right tolook over the list of stockholders and bondholders of record; also, theboard of directors and the minutes of the previous meetings. You maynot find John Parker's name listed either as stockholder, bondholder ordirector, but you might find the First National Bank of El Toro,represented by the cashier or the first vice-president of thatinstitution. Also, if I were you, I'd just naturally hop the rattlerfor San Francisco, hie myself to some stockbroker's office to buy thisstock, and while buying it look over the daily reports of the stockmarket for the past few years and see if the figures suggested anythingto me."

"Anything else?"

"Thus endeth the first lesson, Miguel. At that it's only a vaguesuspicion. Get out of my way, boy. I'm going out to build a dam andyou're not ready to stop me—yet."

"Bill, I'm serious about this. I want you to cease operations."

Bill Conway turned upon him almost angrily. "What for?" he demanded.

"I own the Rancho Palomar. I forbid it. I have a good and sufficientreason."

"But, son, I can finance the confounded dam. I have it financedalready."

"So have I—if I cared to accept favors."

Bill Conway approached and took his young friend by each shoulder."Son," he pleaded, "please let me build this dam. I was never so plumbinterested in any job before. I'll take a chance. I know what I'mgoing to do and how I'm going to do it, and you aren't going to beobligated the least little bit. Isn't John Parker stuck for it all, inthe long run? Why, I've got that hombre by the short hair."

"I know, but long before you can collect from him you'll be financiallyembarrassed."

"Don't worry. I've been a miser all my life and I've got a lot ofmoney hid out. Please, son, quit interfering with me. You asked me tohelp you out, I accepted and I'm going to go through until stopped bylegal procedure. And if you have the law on me I'll never speak to youagain."

"Your attitude doesn't fit in with my plans, Bill Conway."

"Yours don't fit in with mine. Besides, I'm older than you and ifthere was one thing your father taught you it was respect for yourelders. Two heads are better than one. You crack right along and tryto save your ranch in your way and I'll crack right along and try tosave it my way. You pay your way and I'll pay mine. That's fair,isn't it?"

"Yes, but———"

"Fiddlesticks; on your way. You're wasting your breath arguing withme."

Don Mike knew it. "Well, let me have a set of the plans," he concludedsulkily.

Bill Conway handed him out a roll of blue-prints and Farrel mountedPanchito and returned to the hacienda. The blue-prints he hid in thebarn before presenting himself at the house. He knew his absence fromthe breakfast-table would not be commented upon, because for a week,during the round-up of the cattle, he and Pablo and the latter's malerelatives who helped in the riding, had left the hacienda at daylightafter partaking of a four o'clock breakfast.

CHAPTER XXIX

"We've been waiting for you, Miguel, to motor with us to El Toro," Kaygreeted him as he entered the patio.

"So sorry to have delayed you, Kay. I'm ready to start now, if youare."

"Father and mother are coming also. Where have you been? I askedPablo, but he didn't know."

"I've been over to Bill Conway's camp to tell him to quit work on thatdam."

The girl paled slightly and a look of apprehension crept into her eyes."And—and—he's—ceasing operations?" she almost quavered.

"He is not. He defied me, confound him, and in the end I had to lethim have his way."

El Mono, the butler, interrupted them by appearing on the porch toannounce that William waited in the car without. Mrs. Parker presentlyappeared, followed by her husband, and the four entered the waitingcar. Don Mike, satisfied that his old riding breeches and coat wereclean and presentable, had not bothered to change his clothes, anevidence of the democracy of his ranchero caste, which was not lostupon his guests.

"I know another route to El Toro," he confided to the Parkers as thecar sped down the valley. "It's about twelve miles out of our way, butit is an inspiring drive. The road runs along the side of the highhills, with a parallel range of mountains to the east and the lowfoothills and flat farming lands sloping gradually west to the PacificOcean. At one point we can look down into La Questa Valley and it'sbeautiful."

"Let us try that route, by all means," John Parker suggested. "I havebeen curious to see La Questa Valley and observe the agriculturalmethods of the Japanese farmers there."

"I am desirous of seeing it again for the same reason, sir," Farrelreplied. "Five years ago there wasn't a Jap in that valley and now Iunderstand it is a little Japan."

"I understand," Kay struck in demurely, "that La Questa Valley suffereda slight loss in population a few weeks ago."

Both Farrel and her father favored her with brief, sharp, suspiciousglances. "Who was telling you?" the latter demanded.

"Señor Bill Conway."

"He ought to know better than to discuss the Japanese problem withyou," Farrel complained, and her father nodded vigorous assent. Kaytilted her adorable nose at them.

"How delightful to have one's intelligence underrated by mere men," sheretorted.

"Did Bill Conway indicate the direction of the tide of emigration fromLa Questa?" Farrel asked craftily, still unwilling to admit anything.The girl smiled at him, then leaning closer she crooned for his earalone:

He's sleeping in the valley,
The valley,
The valley,
He's sleeping in the valley,
And the mocking bird is singing where he lies.

"Are you glad?" he blurted eagerly. She nodded and thrilled as shenoted the smug little smile of approval and complete understanding thatcrept over his dark face like the shadow of clouds in the San Gregorio.Mrs. Parker was riding in the front seat with the chauffeur and Kay satbetween her father and Don Mike in the tonneau. His hand droppedcarelessly on her lap now, as he made a pretense of pulling the autorobe up around her; with quick stealth he caught her little finger andpressed it hurriedly, then dropped it as if the contact had burned him;whereat the girl realized that he was a man of few words, but———

"Dear old idiot," she thought. "If he ever falls in love he'll pay hiscourt like a schoolboy."

"By the way, sir," Farrel spoke suddenly, turning to John Parker, "Iwould like very much to have your advice in the matter of aninvestment. I will have about ninety thousand dollars on hand as soonas I sell these cattle I've rounded up, and until I can add to this sumsufficient to lift the mortgage you hold, it scarcely seems prudent topermit my funds to repose in the First National Bank of El Toro withoutdrawing interest."

"We'll give you two and one-half per cent. on the account, Farrel."

"Not enough. I want it to earn six or seven per cent. and it occurredto me that I might invest it in some good securities which I coulddispose of at a moment's notice, whenever I needed the money. Thepossibility of a profit on the deal has even occurred to me."

Parker smiled humorously. "And you come to me for advice? Why, boy,I'm your financial enemy."

"My dear Mr. Parker, I am unalterably opposed to you on the Japanesecolonization scheme and I shall do my best to rob you of the profit youplan to make at my expense, but personally I find you a singularlyagreeable man. I know you will never resign a business advantage, but,on the other hand, I think that if I ask you for advice as to aprofitable investment for my pitiful little fortune, you will not bebase enough to advise me to my financial detriment. I trust you. Am Inot banking with your bank?"

"Thank you, Farrel, for that vote of confidence. You possess a trulysporting attitude in business affairs and I like you for it; I like anyman who can take his beating and smile. Yes, I am willing to advise aninvestment. I know of a dozen splendid securities that I canconscientiously recommend as a safe investment, although, in the eventof the inevitable settlement that must follow the war and our nationalorgy of extravagance and high prices, I advise you frankly to waitawhile before taking on any securities. You cannot afford to absorbthe inevitable shrinkage in the values of all commodities when theshow-down comes. However, there is a new issue of South Coast PowerCompany first mortgage bonds that can be bought now to yield eight percent. and I should be very much inclined to take a chance on them,Farrel. The debentures of the power corporations in this state areabout the best I know of."

"I think you are quite right, sir," Farrel agreed. "Eventually theSouth Coast Company is bound to divide with the Pacific Company controlof the power business of the state. I dare say that in the fullness oftime the South Coast people will arrange a merger with the CentralCalifornia Power Company."

"Perhaps. The Central California Company is under-financed and notparticularly well managed, Farrel. I think it is, potentially, anexcellent property, but its bonds have been rather depressed for a longtime."

Farrel nodded his understanding. "Thank you for your advice, sir.When I am ready will your bank be good enough to arrange the purchaseof the South Coast bonds for me?"

"Certainly. Happy to oblige you, Farrel. But do not be in too great ahurry. You may lose more in the shrinkages of values if you buy nowthan you would make in interest."

"I shall be guided by your advice, sir. You are very kind."

"By the way," Parker continued, with a deprecatory smile, "I haven'tentered suit against you in the matter of that foreclosure. I didn'tdesire to annoy you while you were in hospital and you've been busy onthe range ever since. When can I induce you to submit to aprocess-server?"

"This afternoon will suit me, Mr. Parker."

"I'll gladly wait awhile longer, if you can give me any tangibleassurance of your ability to meet the mortgage."

"I cannot do that to-day, sir, although I may be able to do so if youwill defer action for three days."

Parker nodded and the conversation languished. The car had climbed outof the San Gregorio and was mounting swiftly along the route to LaQuesta, affording to the Parkers a panorama of mountain, hill, valleyand sea so startling in its vastness and its rugged beauty that DonMike realized his guests had been silenced as much by awe as by theirdesire to avoid a painful and unprofitable conversation.

Suddenly they swung wide around a turn and saw, two thousand feet belowthem, La Questa Valley. The chauffeur parked the car on the outside ofthe turn to give his passengers a long, unobstructed view.

"Looks like a green checker-board with tiny squares," Parker remarkedpresently.

"Little Japanese farms."

"There must be a thousand of them, Farrel."

"That means not less than five thousand Japanese, Mr. Parker. It meansthat literally a slice of Japan has been transplanted in La QuestaValley, perhaps the fairest and most fruitful valley in the fairest andmost fruitful state in the fairest and most fruitful country God evermade. And it is lost to white men!"

"Serves them right. Why didn't they retain their lands?"

"Why doesn't water run up hill? A few Japs came in and leased orbought lands long before we Californians suspected a 'yellow peril.'They paid good prices to inefficient white farmers who were glad to getout at a price in excess of what any white man could afford to pay.After we passed our land law in 1913, white men continued to buy thelands for a corporation owned by Japanese with white dummy directors,or a majority of the stock of the corporation ostensibly owned by whitemen. Thousands of patriotic Californians have sold their farms toJapanese without knowing it. The law provides that a Japanese cannotlease land longer than three years, so when their leases expire theyconform to our foolish law by merely shifting the tenants from one farmto another. Eventually so many Japs settled in the valley that thatwhite farmers, unable to secure white labor, unable to trust Japaneselabor, unable to endure Japanese neighbors or to enter into Japanesesocial life weary of paying taxes to support schools for the educationof Japanese children, weary of daily contact with irritable, unreliableand unassimilable aliens, sold or leased their farms in order to escapeinto a white neighborhood. I presume, Mr. Parker, that nobody canrealize the impossibility of withstanding this yellow flood exceptthose who have been overwhelmed by it. We humanitarians of a later daygaze with gentle sympathy upon the spectacle of a noble and primevalrace like the Iroquois tribe of Indians dying before the advance of ourAnglo-Saxon civilization, but with characteristic Anglo-Saxoninconsistency and stupidity we are quite loth to feel sorry forourselves, doomed to death before the advance of a Mongoliancivilization unless we put a stop to it—forcibly and immediately!"

"Let us go down and see for ourselves," Mrs. Parker suggested.

Having reached the floor of the valley, at Farrel's suggestion theydrove up one side of it and down the other. Motor-truck aftermotor-truck, laden with crated vegetables, passed them on the road,each truck driven by a Japanese, some of them wearing the peculiarbamboo hats of the Japanese coolie class.

The valley was given over to vegetable farming and the fields weredotted with men, women and children, squatting on their heels betweenthe rows or bending over them in an attitude which they seemed able tomaintain indefinitely, but which would have broken the back of a whiteman.

"I know a white apologist for the Japanese who in a million pamphletsand from a thousand rostrums has cried that it is false that Japanesewomen labor in the fields," Farrel told his guests. "You have seen athousand of them laboring in this valley. Hundreds of them carrybabies on their backs or set them to sleep on a gunnysack between therows of vegetables. There is a sixteen-year-old girl struggling with aone-horse cultivator, while her sisters and her mother hold up theirend with five male Japs in the gentle art of hoeing potatoes."

"They live in wretched little houses," Kay ventured to remark.

"Anything that will shelter a horse or a chicken is a palace to a Jap,Kay. The furnishings of their houses are few and crude. They rise inthe morning, eat, labor, eat, and retire to sleep against another dayof toil. They are all growing rich in this valley, but have you seenone of these aliens building a decent home, or laying out a flowergarden? Do you see anything inspiring or elevating to our nation dueto the influence of such a race?"

"Yonder is a schoolhouse," Mrs. Parker suggested. "Let us visit it."

"The American flag floats over that little red school-house, at anyrate," Parker defended.

William halted the car in the schoolhouse yard and Farrel got out andwalked to the schoolhouse door. An American school-teacher, a girl ofperhaps twenty, came to the door and met him with an inquiring look."May we come in?" Farrel pleaded. "I have some Eastern people with meand I wanted to show them the sort of Americans you are hired to teach."

She smiled ruefully. "I am just about to let them out for recess," shereplied. "Your friends may remain in their car and draw their ownconclusions."

"Thank you." Don Mike returned to the car. "They're coming out forrecess," he confided. "Future American citizens and citizenesses.Count 'em."

Thirty-two little Japanese boys and girls, three Mexican or Indianchildren and four of undoubted white parentage trooped out into theyard and gathered around the car, gazing curiously. The school-teacherbade them run away and play and, in her role of hostess, approached thecar. "I am Miss Owens," she announced, "and I teach this schoolbecause I have to earn a living. It is scarcely a task over which onecan enthuse, although I must admit that Japanese children are notunintelligent and their parents dress them nicely and keep them clean."

"I suppose, Miss Owens," Farrel prompted her, having introduced himselfand the Parkers, "that you have to contend with the native Japaneseschools."

She pointed to a brown house half a mile away. Over it flew the flagof Japan. "They learn ancestor worship and how to kow-tow to theEmperor's picture down there, after they have attended school here,"she volunteered. "Poor little tots! Their heads must ache with theamount of instruction they receive. After they have learned here thatColumbus discovered America on October 12th, 1492, they proceed to thatJapanese school and are taught that the Mikado is a divinity and adirect descendant of the Sun God. And I suppose, also, they are taughtthat it is a fine, clean, manly thing to pack little, green, or decayedstrawberries at the bottom of a crate with nice big ones on top—indefiance of a state law. Our weights and measures law and a few othersare very onerous to our people in La Questa."

"Do you mean to tell me, Miss Owens," Parker asked, "that you despairof educating these little Japanese children to be useful Americancitizens?"

"I do. The Buddhist school over yonder is teaching them to be Japanesecitizens; under Japanese law all Japanese remain Japanese citizens atheart, even if they do occasionally vote here. The discipline of myschool is very lax," she continued. "It would be, of course, in viewof the total lack of parental support. In that other school, however,the discipline is excellent."

She continued to discourse with them, giving them an intimate pictureof life in this little Japan and interesting revelations upon the pointof view, family life and business ethics of the parents of her pupils,until it was time to "take up" school again, when she reluctantlyreturned to her poorly paid and unappreciated efforts.

"Well, of course, these people are impossible socially," John Parkeradmitted magnanimously, "but they do know how to make things grow.They are not afraid of hard work. Perhaps that is why they havesupplanted the white farmers."

"Indeed they do know how, Mr. Parker. And they can produce good cropsmore cheaply than a white farmer. A Japanese with a wife and twofairly well-grown daughters saves the wages of three hired men. Thushe is enabled to work his ground more thoroughly. When he leases landhe tries to acquire rich land, which he robs of its fertility in threeyears and then passes on to renew the outrage elsewhere. Where he ownsland, however, he increases fertility by proper fertilization."

"So you do not believe it possible for a white man to competeeconomically with these people, Farrel?"

"Would you, if you were a white farmer, care to compete with theJapanese farmers of this valley? Would you care to live in a roughboard shack, subsist largely on rice, labor from daylight to dark andforce your wife and daughter to labor with you in the fields? Wouldyou care to live in a kennel and never read a book or take an interestin public affairs or thrill at a sunset or consider that you reallyought to contribute a dollar toward starving childhood in Europe?Would you?"

"You paint a sorry picture, Farrel." Parker was evasive.

"I paint what I see before me," he answered doggedly. "This—in fiveyears. And if this be progress as we view progress—if this bedesirable industrial or agricultural evolution, then I'm out of tunewith my world and my times, and as soon as I am certain of it I'll blowmy brains out."

Parker chuckled at this outburst and Kay prodded him with her elbow—awarning prod. The conversation languished immediately. Don Mike satstaring out upon the little green farms and the little brown men andwomen who toiled on them.

"Angry, Don Mike?" the girl asked presently. He bent upon her a glanceof infinite sadness.

"No, my dear girl, just feeling a little depressed. It's hard for aman who loves his country so well that he would gladly die a thousanddreadful deaths for it, to have to fight the disloyal thought thatperhaps, after all, it isn't really worth fighting for and dying for.If we only had the courage and the foresight and the firmness of theAustralians and New Zealanders! Why, Kay, those sane people will noteven permit an Indian prince—a British subject, forsooth—to entertheir country except under bond and then for six months only. When thesix months have expired—heraus mit em! You couldn't find a Jap inAustralia, with a search warrant. But do you hear any Japanese threatsof war against Australia for this alleged insult to her national honor?You do not. They save that bunkum for puss*-footing, peace-loving,backward-looking, dollar-worshiping Americans. As a nation we do notwish to be awakened from our complacency, and the old theory that aprophet is without honor in his own country is a true one. So perhapsit would be well if we discuss something else—luncheon, for instance.Attention! Silence in the ranks! Here we are at the Hotel De LasRosas."

Having dined his guests, Farrel excused himself, strolled over to therailroad station and arranged with the agent for cattle cars to bespotted in on the siding close to town three days later. From thestation he repaired to the office of his father's old attorney, wherehe was closeted some fifteen minutes, after which he returned to hisguests, awaiting his return on the wide hotel veranda.

"Have you completed your business?" Parker inquired.

"Yes, sir, I have. I have also completed some of yours. Coming awayfrom the office of my attorney, I noticed the office of your attorneyright across the hall, so I dropped in and accepted service of thecomplaint in action for the foreclosure of your confounded oldmortgage. This time your suit is going to stick! Furthermore, as Ijogged down Main Street, I met Judge Morton, of the Superior Court, andmade him promise that if the suit should be filed this afternoon hewould take it up on his calendar to-morrow morning and render ajudgment in your favor."

"By George," Parker declared, apparently puzzled, "one gathers theimpression that you relish parting with your patrimony when youactually speed the date of departure."

Mrs. Parker took Don Mike by the lapel of his coat. "You have asecret," she charged.

He shook his head.

"You have," Kay challenged. "The intuition of two women cannot begainsaid."

Farrel took each lady by the arm and with high, mincing steps,simulating the utmost caution in his advance, he led them a little waydown the veranda out of hearing of the husband and father.

"It isn't a secret," he whispered, "because a secret is something whichone has a strong desire to conceal. However, I do not in the leastmind telling you the cause of the O-be-joyful look that has arousedyour curiosity. Please lower your heads and incline your best earstoward me… There! I rejoice because I have the shaggy old wolfof Wall Street, more familiarly known as John Parker, beaten at hisfavorite indoor sport of high and lofty finance. 'Tis sad, but true.The old boy's a gone fawn. Le roi est mort! vive le roi!"

Kay's eyes danced. "Really, Miguel?"

"Not really or actually, Kay, but—er—morally certain."

"Oh!" There was disappointment in her voice. Her mother was lookingat Don Mike sharply, shrewdly, but she said nothing, and Farrel had afeeling that his big moment had fallen rather flat.

"How soon will John be called upon to bow his head and take the blow?"Mrs. Parker finally asked. "Much as I sympathize with you, Miguel, Idislike the thought of John hanging in suspense, as it were."

"Oh, I haven't quite made up my mind," he replied. "I could do itwithin three days, I think, but why rush the execution? Three monthshence will be ample time. You see," he confided, "I like you all sowell that I plan to delay action for six months or a year, unless, ofcourse, you are anxious for an excuse to leave the ranch sooner. Ifyou really want to go as soon as possible, of course I'll get busy andcook Señor Parker's goose, but———"

"You're incorrigible!" the lady declared. "Procrastinate, by allmeans. It would be very lonely for you without us, I'm sure."

"Indeed, it would be. That portion of me which is Irish would picturemy old hacienda alive at night with ghosts and banshees."

Mrs. Parker was looking at him thoughtfully; seemingly she was notlistening. What she really was doing was saying to herself: "Whatmarvelous teeth he has and what an altogether debonair, captivatingyoung rascal he is, to be sure! I cannot understand why he doesn'tmelt John's business heart. Can it be that under that gay, smiling,lovable surface John sees something he doesn't quite like? I wonder."

As they entered the waiting automobile and started for home, Farrel,who occupied the front seat with the chauffeur, turned and faced theParkers. "From this day forward," he promised them, "we are all goingto devote ourselves to the serious task of enjoying life to the utmost.For my part, I am not going to talk business or Japanese immigrationany more. Are you all grateful?"

"We are," they cried in unison.

He thanked them with his mirthful eyes, faced around in his seat and,staring straight ahead, was soon lost in day dreams. John Parker andhis wife exchanged glances, then both looked at their daughter, seatedbetween them. She, too, was building castles in Spain!

When they alighted from the car before the hacienda, Mrs. Parkerlingered until the patio gate had closed on her daughter and Farrel;then she drew her husband down beside her on the bench under thecatalpa tree.

"John, Miguel Farrel says he has you beaten."

"I hope so, dear," he replied feelingly. "I know of but one way outfor that young man, and if he has discovered it so readily I'd be apoor sport indeed not to enjoy his victory."

"You never really meant to take his ranch away from him, did you, John?"

"I did, Kate. I do. If I win, my victory will prove to my entiresatisfaction that Don Miguel José Federico Noriaga Farrel is athrowback to the Mañana family, and in that event, my dear, we willnot want him in ours. We ought to improve our blood-lines, notdeteriorate them."

"Yet you would have sold this valley to that creature Okada."

"Farrel has convinced me of my error there. I have been anti-Jap sincethe day Farrel was thrown from his horse and almost killed—by a Jap."

"I'm sure Kay is in love with him, John."

"Propinquity," he grunted.

"Fiddlesticks! The man is perfectly charming."

"Perhaps. We'll decide that point later. Do you think Farrel isinterested in Kay?"

"I do not know, John," his better half declared hopelessly. "If he is,he possesses the ability to conceal it admirably."

"I'll bet he's a good poker-player. He has you guessing, old girl, andthe man who does that is a rara avis. However, Katie dear, if I wereyou I wouldn't worry about this—er—affair."

"John, I can't help it. Naturally, I'm curious to know the thoughts inthe back of that boy's head, but when he turns that smiling innocentface toward me, all I can see is old-fashioned deference and amiabilityand courtesy. I watch him when he's talking to Kay—when he cannotpossibly know I am snooping, and still, except for that frankfriendliness, his face is as communicative as this old adobe wall. Afew days ago he rode in from the range with a great cluster of wildtiger-lilies—and he presented them to me. Any other young man wouldhave presented them to my daughter."

"I give it up, Kate, and suggest that we turn this mystery over toFather Time. He'll solve it."

"But I don't want Kay to fall in love with Don Mike if he isn't goingto fall in love with her," she protested, in her earnestness raisingher voice, as was frequently her habit.

The patio gate latch clicked and Pablo Artelan stood in the aperture.

"Señora," he said gravely. "Ef I am you I don' worry very much aboutthose boy. Before hee's pretty parteecular. All those hightone'señorita in El Toro she give eet the sweet look to Don Miguel, jus'the same like thees———" Here Pablo relaxed his old body, permittedhis head to loll sideways and his lower jaw to hang slackly, the whilehis bloodshot eyes gazed amorously into the branches of the catalpatree. "But those boy he don' pay some attention. Hee's give beegsmile to thees señorita, beeg smile to thees one, beeg smile to thatone, beeg smile for all the mama, but for the querida I tell to youDon Miguel hee's pretty parteecular. I theenk to myself—Carolina,too—'Look here, Pablo. What he ees the matter weeth those boy? Itheenk mebbeso those boy she's goin' be old bach. What's the matterhere? When I am twenty-eight años my oldes' boy already hee's bustone bronco'." Here Pablo paused to scratch his head. "But now," heresumed, "by the blood of those devil I know sometheeng!"

"What do you know, you squidgy-nosed old idol, you?" Parker demanded,with difficulty repressing his laughter.

"I am ol' man," Pablo answered with just the correct shade ofdeprecation, "but long time ago I have feel like my corazon—myheart—goin' make barbecue in my belly. I am in love. I know. Nobodycan fool me. An' those boy, Don Miguel, I tell you, señor, hee'scrazy for love weeth the Señorita Kay."

Parker crooked his finger, and in obedience to the summons Pabloapproached the bench.

"How do you know all this, Pablo?"

Let us here pause and consider. In the summer of 1769 a dashing,care-free Catalonian soldier in the company of Don Gaspar de Portola,while swashbuckling his way around the lonely shores of San Diego Bay,had encountered a comely young squaw. Mira, señores! Of the bloodthat flowed in the veins of Pablo Artelan, thirty-one-thirty-secondswas Indian, but the other one-thirty-second was composed of equal partsof Latin romance and conceit.

Pablo's great moment had arrived. Lowly peon that he was, he knewhimself at this moment to be a most important personage; death wouldhave been preferable to the weakness of having failed to take advantageof it.

"Why I know, Señor Parker?" Pablo laughed briefly, lightly,mirthlessly, his cacchination carefully designed to convey theimpression that he considered the question extremely superfluous. Withexasperating deliberation he drew forth his little bag of tobacco and abrown cigarette paper; he smiled as he dusted into the cigarette paperthe requisite amount of tobacco. With one hand he rolled thecigarette; while wetting the flap with his garrulous tongue, he gazedout upon the San Gregorio as one who looks beyond a lifted veil.

He answered his own question. "Well, señor—and you, señora! Itell you. Por nada—forgeeve; please, I speak the Spanish—fornotheeng, those boy he poke weeth hee's thumb the rib of me."

"No?" cried John Parker, feigning profound amazement.

"Es verdad. Eet ees true, señor. Those boy hee's happy, no? Eh?"

"Apparently."

"You bet you my life. Well, las' night those boy hee's peench weethhis thumb an' theese fingair—what you suppose?"

"I give it up, Pablo."

Pablo wiped away with a saddle-colored paw a benignant and paternalsmile. He wagged his head and scuffed his heel in the dirt. Hefeasted his soul on the sensation that was his.

"Those boy hee's peench—" a dramatic pause. Then:

"Eef you tell to Don Miguel those things I tol' you—SantaMarias—Hees cut my throat."

"We will respect your confidence, Pablo," Mrs. Parker hastened toassure the traitor.

"All right. Then I tol' to you what those boy peench—weeth hees thumban' thees fingair. Mira. Like thees."

"Cut out the pantomime and disgorge the information, for the love ofheaven," Parker pleaded.

"He peench"—Pablo's voice rose to a pseudo-feminine screech—"thecheek of"—he whirled upon Mrs. Parker and transfixed her with atobacco-stained index finger—"Señorita Parker, so help me, by Jimmy,eef I tell you some lies I hope I die pretty queeck."

Both the Parkers stared at the old man blankly. He continued:

"He peench—queeck—like that. He don' know hee's goin' forpeench—hees all time queeck like that—he don' theenk. But afterthose boy hee's peench the cheen of those girl, hee's got red in theface like black-bird's weeng. 'Oh,' he say, 'I am sky-blue eedete-ot,'an' he run away queeck before he forget heemself an' peench those girlsome more."

John Parker turned gravely to his wife. "Old hon," he murmured softly,"Don Mike Farrel is a pinch-bug. He pinched Kay's chin during a mentallapse; then he remembered he was still under my thumb and he cursedhimself for a sky-blue idiot."

"Oh, John, dear, I'm so glad." There were tears in Mrs. Parker's eyes."Aren't you, John?"

"No, I'm not," he replied savagely. "I think it's an outrage and I'dspeak to Farrel about it if it were not apparent nobody realizes morekeenly than does he the utter impossibility of permitting his fancy towander in that direction."

"John Parker, you're a hard-hearted man," she cried, and left him inhigh dudgeon, to disappear into the garden. As the gate closed behindher, John Parker drew forth his pocket book and abstracted from it ahundred-dollar bill, which he handed to Pablo Artelan.

"We have had our little differences, Pablo," he informed that astoundedindividual, "but we're gradually working around toward a true spirit ofbrotherly love. In the language of the classic, Pablo, I'm here totell the co*ck-eyed world that you're one good Indian."

Pablo swept his old sombrero to the ground, "Gracias, señor, millegracias," he murmured, and shuffled away with his prize.

Verily, the ways of this Gringo were many and mysterious. To-day onehated him; to-morrow———

"There is no doubt about it," Pablo soliloquized, "it is better to bethe head of a mouse than the tail of a lion!"

CHAPTER XXX

The following day Don Mike, Pablo and the latter's male relatives, whohad so mysteriously appeared on the premises, were early ahorse,driving to El Toro the three hundred-odd head of cattle of all ages andsizes rounded up on the Palomar. The cattle were corraled at a ranchhalf-way to El Toro the first night, and there watered and fed; thefollowing night they were in the cattle pens at El Toro, and thefollowing day Farrel loaded them aboard the cars and shipped them outto Los Angeles, accompanying the shipment personally. Two days laterhe was back on the ranch, and the Parkers noticed that his exuberantspirits had not in the least subsided.

"I'd give a ripe peach to know what that fellow is up to," John Parkercomplained. "Confidentially, I've had him shadowed from the moment hearrived in Los Angeles until the moment he returned to El Toro andstarted back for the ranch. He has conferred with nobody except thestock-yard people. Nevertheless, he has a hen on."

"Yes, and that hen will hatch a young bald-headed eagle to scratch youreyes out," his daughter reminded him, whereat he chuckled.

"Old Bill Conway's drilling away at his dam-site," he volunteeredpresently, "and his suit against me for damages, due to breach ofcontract, is set for trial so far down Judge Morton's calendar that theold judge will have to use a telescope to find it. However, Ishouldn't charge the judge with a lack of interest in my affairs, forhe has rendered a judgment in my favor in the matter of that mortgageforeclosure and announced from the bench that if this judgment doesn'tstick he'll throw the case out of court the next time it is presentedfor trial. I wonder what Farrel's next move will be?"

"I heard him announce that he was going to get ready for the fiesta,"Kay replied.

For two weeks he was busy harrowing, disking and rolling the oldrace-track; he repainted the weather-beaten poles and reshingled thejudge's stand; he repaired the fence and installed an Australianstarting-gate, dug a pit for the barbecue and brought forth, repairedand set up under the oaks close to the race-tracks, thirty long woodentables at which, in an elder and more romantic day, the entirecountryside, as guests of the Farrels and Noriagas, had gathered tofeast. Farrel worked hard and saw but little of his guests, except atmeal-times; he retired somewhat early each night and, insofar as hisguests could note, he presented a most commendable example of a youngman whose sole interest in life lay in his work.

"When do you plan to give your fiesta, Miguel?" Kay inquired oneevening as they sat, according to custom, on the veranda.

"In about a month," he replied. "I've got to fatten my steers andharden them on a special diet before we barbecue them. Don NicolásSandoval will have charge of the feast, and if I furnished him withthin, tough range steers, he'd charge me with modernism and disown me.Old Bill Conway never would forget it. He'd nag me to my grave."

"When do we give Panchito his try-out, Don Mike?"

"The track is ready for it now, Kay, and Pablo tells me Panchito'shalf-brother is now a most dutiful member of society and can get therein a hurry when he's sent for. But he's only a half thoroughbred.Shall we start training to-morrow?"

"Oh, goody. By all means."

The long and patient methods of education to which a green race-horseis subjected were unknown on the Rancho Palomar. Panchito was atrained saddle animal, wise, sensible, courageous and with a prodigiousfaith that his rider would get him safely out of any jam into whichthey might blunder together. The starting-gate bothered him at first,but after half a dozen trials, he realized that the web, flying upward,had no power to hurt him and was, moreover, the signal for a short,jolly contest of speed with his fellows of the rancho. Before the weekwas out he was "breaking" from the barrier with speed and serenity bornof the knowledge that this was exactly what was expected of him;whereupon the other horses that Don Mike used to simulate a field ofcompetitors, took heart of hope at Panchito's complacency and brokerather well with him.

Those were long, lazy days on the Palomar. June had cast its witheringsmile upon the San Gregorio and the green hills had turned to a parchedbrown. Grasshoppers whirred everywhere; squirrels whistled; occasionallittle dust-devils whirled up the now thoroughly dry river-bed and theatmosphere was redolent of the aroma of dust and tarweed. Pablo andhis dusky relatives, now considerably augmented (albeit Don Mike hadissued no invitation to partake of his hospitality), trained colts asroping horses or played Mexican monte in the shade of the help'squarters. Occasionally they roused themselves long enough to justifytheir inroads upon Don Mike's groceries by harvesting a forty-acrefield of alfalfa and irrigating it for another crop, for which purposea well had been sunk in the bed of the dry San Gregorio.

The wasted energies of these peons finally commenced to irritate JohnParker.

"How long are you going to tolerate the presence of this healthy lot ofcholo loafers and grafters, Farrel?" he demanded one day. "Have youany idea of what it is costing you to support that gang?"

"Yes," Farrel replied. "About ten dollars a day."

"You cannot afford that expense."

"I know it. But then, they're the local color, they've always been andthey will continue to be while I have title to this ranch. Why, theirhearts would be broken if I refused them permission to nestle under thecloak of my philanthropy, and he is a poor sort of white man who willdisappoint a poor devil of a cholo."

"You're absolutely incomprehensible," Parker declared.

Farrel laughed. "You're not," he replied. "Know anything about astop-watch?"

"I know all about one."

"Well, your daughter has sent to San Francisco for the best stop-watchmoney can buy, and it's here. I've had my father's old stop-watchcleaned and regulated. Panchito's on edge and we're going to give hima half-mile tryout to-morrow, so I want two stop-watches on him. Willyou oblige, sir?"

Parker willingly consented, and the following morning Farrel and hisguests repaired to the race-track. Kay, mounted on Panchito in racinggear, was, by courtesy, given a position next to the rail. Eightypounds of dark meat, answering to the name of Allesandro Trujillo andclaiming Pablo Artelan as his grandfather, drew next position onPeep-sight, as Farrel had christened Panchito's half-brother, whilethree other half-grown cholo youths, gathered at random here andthere, faced the barrier on the black mare, the old gray roping horseand a strange horse belonging to one of the volunteer jockeys.

There was considerable backing, filling and some bucking at thebarrier, and Pablo and two of his relatives, acting as starters, werekept busy straightening out the field. Finally, with a shrill yip,Pablo released the web and the flighty young Peep-sight was away infront, with the black mare's nose at his saddle-girth and the fieldspread out behind him, with Panchito absolutely last.

At the quarter-pole Kay had worked her mount easily up through the ruckto contend with Peep-sight. The half-thoroughbred was three years oldand his muscles had been hardened by many a wild scramble up and downthe hills of El Palomar; he was game, he was willing, and for half amile he was marvelously fast, as Farrel had discovered early in thetryouts. Indeed, as a "quarter-horse" Farrel knew that few horsesmight beat the comparatively green Peep-sight and he had beenindiscreet enough to make that statement in the presence of youthfulAllesandro Trujillo, thereby filling that young hopeful with atremendous ambition to race the famed Panchito into submission for themere sport of a race.

In a word, Allesandro's Indian blood was up. If there was anything heloved, it was a horse-race for money, chalk, marbles or fun. Thereforewhen a quick glance over his shoulder showed Panchito's blazed face atPeep-sight's rump, Allesandro clucked to his mount, gathered the reinsa trifle tighter and dug his dirty bare heels into Peep-sight's ribs,for he was riding bareback, as an Indian should. Peep-sight respondedto the invitation with such alacrity that almost instantly he hadopened a gap of two full lengths between himself and Kay on Panchito.

Farrel and Parker, holding their stop-watches, watched the race fromthe judge's stand.

"By Jove, that Peep-sight is a streak," Parker declared admiringly."He can beat Panchito at that distance, even at proportionate weightsand with an even break at the start."

Farrel nodded, his father's old racing-glass fixed on Allesandro andKay. The girl had "gathered" her mount; she was leaning low on hispowerful neck and Farrel knew that she was talking to him, riding himout as he had never been ridden before. And he was responding. Footby foot he closed the distance that Peep-sight had opened up, butwithin a hundred yards of the finish Allesandro again called upon hismount for some more of the same, and the gallant Peep-sight flattenedhimself perceptibly and held his own; nor could Panchito's greatestefforts gain upon the flying half-breed a single inch.

"Bully for the Indian kid," Parker yelled. "Man, man, that's a horserace."

"They'll never stop at the half-mile pole," Farrel laughed. "That racewill be won by Panchito when Panchito wins it. Ah, I told you so."

"Well, Peep-sight wins at the half by one open length—and the choloboy is using a switch on him!"

"He's through. Panchito is gaining on him. He'll pass him at thethree-quarter pole."

"Right-o, Farrel. Panchito wins by half a length at the three-quarterpole———"

"I wish Kay would pull him up," Farrel complained. "He's gone too faralready and there she is still heading for home like the devil beatingtan-bark… well, if she breaks him down she's going to be out thegrandest saddle animal in the state of California. That's all I haveto say… Kay, Kay, girl, what's the matter with you? Pull himup… by the blood of the devil, she can't pull him up. She's broken arein and he's making a run of it on his own."

"Man, look at that horse go."

"Man, look at him come!"

Panchito had swung into the home-stretch, his white face and whitefront legs rising and falling with the strong, steady rhythm of thehorse whose stout heart refuses to acknowledge defeat, the horse whostill has something left for a supreme effort at the finish.

"There is a true race-horse," Parker cried exultantly. "I once won aten-thousand-dollar purse with a dog that wasn't fit to appear on thesame track with that Panchito."

The big chestnut thudded by below them, stretched to the limit of hisendurance, passed what would have been the finish had the race been amile and a sixteenth, and galloped up the track with the brokenbridle-rein dangling. He slowed down as he came to the other horses inthe race, now jogging back to the judge's stand, and one of the choloyouths spurred alongside of him, caught the dangling rein and led himback to the judge's stand.

Kay's face was a little bit white as she smiled up at her father andFarrel. "The old darling ran away with me," she called.

Farrel was instantly at her side and had lifted her out of the saddle.She clung to him for the barest moment, trembling with fear andexcitement, before turning to examine Panchito, from whom Pablo hadalready stripped the saddle. He was badly blown, as trembly as thegirl herself, and dripping with sweat, but when Pablo slipped theheadstall on him and commenced to walk him up and down to "cool himout," Don Mike's critical eye failed to observe any evil effects fromthe long and unaccustomed race.

John Parker came down out of the grand stand, his thumb still tightlypressing the stem of his stop-watch, which he thrust under Farrel'snose.

"Look, you star-spangled ignoramus, look," he yelled. "You own a horsethat's fit to win the Melbourne Cup or the American Derby, and youdon't know it. What do you want for him? Give you ten thousand forhim this minute—and I am not so certain that race hasn't hurt him."

"Oh, I don't want to sell Panchito. I can make this ranch pay tenthousand dollars, but I cannot breed another Panchito on it."

"Farrel, if you refuse to sell me that horse I'm going to sit rightdown here and weep. Son, I don't know a soul on earth who can usetwelve—yes, fifteen—thousand dollars handier than you can."

Don Mike smiled his lazy, tantalizing smile. "I might as well be brokeas the way I am," he protested. "What's a paltry fifteen thousanddollars to a man who needs half a million? Mr. Parker, my horse is notfor sale at any price."

"You mean that?"

"Absolutely."

John Parker sighed. Since that distant day when he had decided that hecould afford such a luxury, his greatest delight had been in owning and"fussing" with a few really great race-horses. He had owned somefamous sprinters, but his knowledge of the racing game had convincedhim that, could he but acquire Panchito, he would be the owner of atrue king of the turf. The assurance that, with all his great wealth,this supreme delight was denied him, was a heavy blow.

Kay slipped her arm through his. "Don't cry, pa, please! We'll waituntil Don Mike loses all his sheep and cow money and then we'll buyPanchito for a song."

"Oh, Kay, little girl, that horse is a peach. I think I'd give acouple of toes for the fun of getting my old trainer Dan Leighton outhere, training this animal quietly up here in the valley where nobodycould get a line on his performances, then shipping him east toSaratoga, where I'd put a good boy on him, stick him in rotten companyand win enough races to qualify him for the biggest event of the year.And then! Oh, how I would steal the Derby from John H. Hatfield andhis four-year-old wonder. I owe Hatfield a poke anyhow. We wentraiding together once and the old sinner double-crossed me."

"Who is John H. Hatfield?" Don Mike queried mildly.

"Oh, he's an aged sinner down in Wall Street. He works hard to makethe New Yorkers support his racing stables. Poor old John! All he hasis some money and one rather good horse."

"And you wish to police this Hatfield person, sir?"

"If I could, I'd die happy, Farrel."

"Very well. Send for your old trainer, train Panchito, try him out abit at Tia Juana, Lower California, at the meeting this winter, shiphim to Saratoga and make Señor Hatfield curse the day he was born. Ihave a very excellent reason for not selling Panchito to you, but neverlet it be said that I was such a poor sport I refused to loan him toyou—provided, of course, Kay agrees to this course. He's her mount,you know, while she's on El Palomar."

Parker turned to his daughter. "Kay," he demanded, "do you love yourpoor old father?"

"Yes, I do, pa, but you can't have Panchito until you do something forme."

"Up jumped the devil! What do you want?"

"If you accept a favor from Miguel Farrel you ought to be sport enoughto grant him one. If you ever expect to see Panchito in your racingcolors out in front at the American Derby, Miguel must have a renewalof his mortgage."

"Oh, the devil take that mortgage. You and your mother never give me amoment's peace about it. You make me feel like a criminal; it'sgetting so I'll have to sit around playing mumbley-peg in order to geta thrill in my old age. You win, Kay. Farrel, I will grant you arenewal of the mortgage. I'm weary of being a Shylock."

"Thanks ever so much. I do not desire it, Mr. Parker. One of thesebright days when I get around to it, and provided luck breaks my way,I'll take up that mortgage before the redemption period expires. Ihave resolved to live my life free from the shadow of an accursedmortgage. Let me see, now. We were talking about horse-racing, werewe not?"

"Miguel Farrel, you'd anger a sheep," Parker cried wrathfully, andstrode away toward his automobile waiting in the infield. Kay and DonMike watched him drive straight across the valley to the road and turnin the direction of El Toro.

"Wilder than a March hare," Don Mike commented.

"Not at all," Kay assured him. "He's merely risking his life in hishaste to reach El Toro and telegraph Dan Leighton to reportimmediately."

CHAPTER XXXI

John Parker's boredom had been cured by a stop-watch. One week afterPanchito had given evidence of his royal breeding, Parker's oldtrainer, Dan Leighton, arrived at the Palomar. Formerly a jockey, hewas now in his fiftieth year, a wistful little man with a puckered,shrewd face, which puckered more than usual when Don Mike handed himPanchito's pedigree.

"He's a marvelous horse, Danny," Parker assured the old trainer.

"No thanks to him. He ought to be," Leighton replied. His cool glancemeasured Allesandro Trujillo, standing hard by. "I'll have that duskyimp for an exercise boy," he announced. "He's built like anaeroplane—all superstructure and no solids."

For a month the training of Panchito went on each morning. Pablo'sgrandson, under Danny Leighton's tuition, proved an excellent exerciseboy. He learned to sit his horse in the approved jockey fashion; proudbeyond measure at the part he was playing, he paid strict attention toLeighton's instructions and progressed admirably.

Watching the horse develop under skilled scientific training, itoccurred to Don Mike each time he held his father's old stop-watch onPanchito that race-horses had, in a great measure, conduced to the ruinof the Noriagas and Farrels, and something told him that Panchito waslikely to prove the instrument for the utter financial extinction ofthe last survivor of that famous tribe. "If he continues to improve,"Farrel told himself, "he's worth a bet—and a mighty heavy one.Nevertheless, Panchito's grandfather, leading his field by six openlengths in the home-stretch, going strong and a sure-fire winner,tangled his feet, fell on his nose and cost my father a thousand steerssix months before they were ready for market. I ought to leave JohnParker to do all the betting on Panchito, but—well, he's arace-horse—and I'm a Farrel."

"When will Panchito be ripe to enter in a mile and a sixteenth race?"he asked Parker.

"About the middle of November. The winter meeting will be on at TiaJuana, Baja California, then, and Leighton wants to give him a fewtry-outs there in fast company over a much shorter course. We will winwith him in a field of ordinary nags and we will be careful not to wintoo far or too spectacularly. We have had his registry brought up todate and of course you will be of record as his owner. In view of ourplans, it would never do for Danny and me to be connected with him inany way."

Don Mike nodded and rode over to Agua Caliente Basin to visit BillConway. Mr. Conway was still on the job, albeit Don Mike hazarded aguess that the old schemer had spent almost two hundred thousanddollars. His dam was, as he facetiously remarked, "taking concreteshape," and he was rushing the job in order to have the structurethoroughly dry and "set" against the coming of the winter rains. Tohis signal relief, Farrel asked him no embarrassing questions regardingthe identity of the extremely kind-hearted person who was financinghim; he noticed that his young friend appeared a trifle pre-occupiedand depressed. And well he might be. The secret knowledge that he wasobligated to Kay Parker to the extent of the cost of this dam wasirritating to his pride; while he felt that her loving interest andsympathy, so tremendously manifested, was in itself a debt he wouldalways rejoice in because he never could hope to repay it, it did irkhim to be placed in the position of never being able to admit hisknowledge of her action. He prayed that Bill Conway would be enabledto complete the dam as per his contract; that Judge Morton would thenrush to trial Conway's suit for damages against Parker fornon-performance of contract; that Conway would be enabled immediatelyto reimburse himself through Parker's assets which he had attached,repay Kay and close the transaction.

On November fifteenth Danny Leighton announced that Panchito was "righton edge" and, with a few weeks of experience in professional company,fit to make the race of his career. The winter meeting was already onat Tia Juana and, with Farrel's consent, Panchito was lovinglydeposited in a well-padded crate mounted on a motor truck andtransported to El Toro. Here he was loaded in an express car and,guarded by Don Mike, shipped not to Tia Juana, as Parker and histrainer both supposed he would be, but to San Diego, sixteen milesnorth of the international boundary—a change of plan originating withFarrel and by him kept a secret from Parker and Danny Leighton. WithPanchito went an ancient Saratoga trunk, Pablo Artelan, and littleAllesandro Trujillo, ragged and bare-footed as usual.

Upon arriving in San Diego Don Mike unloaded Panchito at the Santa Fedepot. Gone now were the leg bandages and the beautiful blanket withwhich Danny Leighton had furnished Panchito at starting. These thingsproclaimed the race-horse, and that was not part of Don Mike's plan.He led the animal to a vacant lot a few blocks from the depot and,leaving him there in charge of Pablo, went up town to the Mexicanconsulate and procured passports into Baja California for himself andAllesandro. From the consulate he went to a local stock-yard andpurchased a miserable, flea-bitten, dejected saddle mule, together witha dilapidated old stock saddle with a crupper, and a well-wornhorse-hair hackamore.

Returning to the depot, he procured his old Saratoga trunk from thestation master and removed from it the beautiful black-leather,hand-carved, silver-mounted stock saddle he had won at a rodeo someyears previous; a pair of huge, heavy, solid silver Mexican spurs, withtan carved-leathern straps, and a finely plaited hand-made rawhidebridle, sans throat-latch and brow-band and supporting a long, cruel,solid silver Spanish bit, with silver chain chin-strap and heavilyembossed. In this gear he arrayed Panchito, and then mounted him.Allesandro mounted the flea-bitten mule, the old Saratoga trunk wasturned over to Pablo, and with a fervent "Adios, Don Miguel. Go withGod!" from the old majordomo, Don Mike and his little companion rodesouth through the city toward the international boundary.

They crossed at Tecarte next day and in the somnolent little bordertown Don Mike made sundry purchases and proceeded south on the roadtoward Ensenada.

Meanwhile, John Parker, his wife and daughter and Danny Leighton hadmotored to San Diego and taken rooms at a hotel there. Each day theyattended the races at Tia Juana, and as often as they appeared therethey looked long and anxiously for Don Miguel José Federico NoriagaFarrel. But in vain.

Three days before Thanksgiving the entries for the Thanksgivinghandicap were announced, and when Danny Leighton read them in themorning paper he at once sought his employer.

"That fellow Farrel has spoiled everything," he complained furiously."He's entered Panchito in the Thanksgiving Handicap at a mile and asixteenth, for a ten thousand dollar purse. There he is!"

Parker read the list and sighed. "Well, Panchito is his horse, Danny.He has a right to enter him if he pleases—hello! Katie! Kay! Here'snews for you. Listen!"

He read aloud:

DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, JR.

ARRIVE AT TIA JUANA—THEY ENTER PANCHITO
IN THE THANKSGIVING HANDICAP

By the Rail Bird

Considerable interest having developed among the followers of the sportof kings at Tia Juana race-track anent the entry of Panchito in theThanksgiving Handicap, and the dope books yielding nothing, yourcorrespondent hied him to the office of the secretary of the LowerCalifornia Jockey Club; whereupon he was regaled with the followingextraordinary tale:

Two days ago a Mexican rode into Tia Juana from the south. He wasriding Panchito and his outfit was the last word in Mexicanmagnificence. His saddle had cost him not a real less than fivehundred dollars gold; his silver spurs could have been pawned in anyTia Juana loan office for twenty-five dollars and many a longing glancewas cast on a magnificent bridle that would have cost any bricklayer amonth's pay. Panchito, a splendid big chestnut with two whitestockings and a blazed face, was gray with sweat and alkali dust andshod like a plow horse. He wore cactus burrs in his tail and mane andhad evidently traveled far.

His rider claimed to have been on the road a week, and his soiledclothing and unshaven face gave ample testimony of that fact. He wasarrayed in the traditional costume of the Mexican ranchero of means andspoke nothing but Spanish, despite which handicap the racing secretarygleaned that his name was Don Miguel José Maria Federico NoriagaFarrelle. Following Don Miguel came Sancho Panza, Junior, a stringyIndian youth of fourteen summers, mounted on an ancient flea-bittenmule. The food and clothing of these two adventurers were carriedbehind them on their saddles.

An interpreter informed the secretary that Don Miguel was desirous ofentering his horse, Panchito, in the Thanksgiving Handicap. Thehorse's registration papers being in order, the entry was accepted, DonQuixote and Sancho Panza, Junior, were each given a badge, and a stallwas assigned to Panchito. At the same time Don Quixote madeapplication for an apprentice license for young Sancho Panza, whoanswers to the name of Allesandro Trujillo, when the enchiladas areready.

Panchito, it appears, is a five-year-old, bred by Michael J. Farrel,whose post-office address is El Toro, San Marcos County, California.He is bred in the purple, being a descendant of Duke of Norfolk and,according to his present owner, Don Quixote, he can run circles aroundan antelope and has proved it in a number of scrub races at variousfiestas and celebrations. According to Don Quixote, his horse hasnever hitherto appeared on a public race-track. Panchito knows farmore about herding and roping steers than he does about professionalracing, and enters the list with no preparation other than the dailyexercise afforded in bearing his owner under a forty-pound stock saddleand scrambling through the cactus after longhorns. Evidently DonQuixote knows it all. He brushed aside with characteristic Castiliangrace some well-meant advice tendered him by his countrymen, who haveaccumulated much racing wisdom since the bang-tails have come to TiaJuana. He spent the entire day yesterday telling everybody whounderstands Spanish what a speed marvel is his Panchito, while SanchoPanza, Junior, galloped Panchito gently around the track and warmed himin a few quarter-mile sprints. It was observed that the cactus burrswere still decorating Panchito's tail and mane.

Don Quixote is a dead game Mexican sport, however. He has a roll thatwould choke a hippopotamus and appears willing to bet them as high as ahound's back.

Figure it out for yourself. You pays your money and you takes yourchoice. Bobby Wilson, the handicapper, says Don Quixote smokesmarihuana, but the jefe politico says he knows it's the fermentedjuice of the century plant. However, Bobby is taking no chances as thewise ones will note when they check the weights. Panchito, being apowerful horse and (according to Don Quixote) absolutely unbeatable,faces the barrier with an impost of 118 pounds, not counting his shoes,cactus burrs and stable accumulations.

Watch for Sancho Panza, Junior. He rides barefooted in a two-pieceuniform, to wit, one "nigg*r" shirt and a pair of blue bib overalls,and he carries a willow switch.

Viva Panchito. Viva Don Quixote. Ditto Sancho Panza, Junior.

John Parker finished reading and his glance sought Leighton's."Danny," he informed the trainer in a low voice, "here is what I call adirty, low, Irish trick. I suppose he's been making a night-bird outof Panchito, but you can bet your last nickel he isn't neglecting himwhen they're alone in the barn together. He gets a grooming then; hegets well fed and well rubbed and the cactus burrs and the stableaccumulations are only scenery when Panchito's on parade. He removedthe racing plates you put on Panchito and substituted heavy work shoes,but—Panchito will go to the post with racing plates. I think we hadbetter put a bet down on him."

"I wouldn't bet tin money on him," Danny Leighton warned. "He canoutrun anything in that field, even if he has broken training a little,but those wise little jockeys on the other horses will never let himwin. They'll pocket him and keep him there."

"They'll not!" Kay's voice rose sharply. "Panchito will be off first,no matter what position he draws, and Don Mike's orders to Allesandrowill be to keep him in front. But you are not to bet on him, father."

"Why not? Of course I shall bet on him."

"You know very well, Dad, that there are no book-makers of Tia Juana tomake the odds. The Paris Mutuel system obtains here and the publicmakes the odds. Consequently the more money bet on Panchito the lowerwill be his price. I'm certain Don Mike will bet every dollar he hasin the world on Panchito, but he will bet it, through trusted agents,in pool-rooms all over the country. The closing price here should besuch that the pool-rooms should pay Don Mike not less than fifteen toone."

"So you've been his confidante, have you?" Parker scrutinized hisdaughter quizzically.

"He had to take somebody into his confidence in order to have his plansprotected," she confessed blushingly.

"Quite so! Somebody with a deal of influence," Mrs. Parkerinterjected. "John, this is simply delicious. That rascal of a DonMiguel has reverted to type. He has put aside his Celtic and Gaelicblood and turned Mexican. He tells people the truth about his horseand a reporter with a sense of humor has advertised these truths bywriting a funny story about him and Panchito and the Indian imp."

"They'll have him up in the judge's stand for an explanation fiveminutes after the race is won," Danny Leighton declared. "Panchitowill be under suspicion of being a ringer and the payment of bets willbe held up."

"In which case, dad," Kay reminded him demurely, "you and Mr. Leightonwill be furnished with an excellent opportunity to prove yourselvesheroes. Both of you will go to the judge's stand immediately and vouchfor Don Mike and Panchito. If you do not I shall—and I fancy JohnParker's daughter's testimony will be given some consideration, Mr.John Parker being very well known to every racing judge in America."

"There are days," murmured John Parker sadly, "when I find itimpossible to lay up a cent. I have nurtured a serpent in my bosom."

"Tush! There are no snakes in Ireland," his humorous wife remindedhim. "What if Don Mike has hoisted you on your own petard? Few menhave done as much," and she pinched his arm lovingly.

CHAPTER XXXII

Four days before Thanksgiving Brother Anthony returned from El Torowith Father Dominic's little automobile purring as it had not purredfor many a day, for expert mechanics had given the little car athorough overhauling and equipped it with new tires and brake lining atthe expense of Miguel Farrel. Father Dominic looked the rejuvenatedruin over with prideful eyes and his saintly old face puckered in asmile.

"Brother Anthony," he declared to that mildly crack-brained person,"that little conveyance has been responsible for many a furiousexhibition of temper on your part. But God is good. He will forgiveyou, and has He not proved it by moving our dear Don Mike to save youfrom the plague of repairing it for many months to come?"

Brother Anthony, whose sense of humor, had he ever possessed one, hadlong since been ruined in his battles with Father Dominic's automobile,raised a dour face.

"Speaking of Don Miguel, I am informed that our young Don Miguel hasgone to Baja California, there to race Panchito publicly for a purse often thousand dollars gold. I would, Father Dominic, that I might seethat race."

Father Dominic laid his hand on poor Brother Anthony's shoulder."Because you have suffered for righteousness' sake, Brother Anthony,your wish shall be granted. Tomorrow you shall drive Pablo andCarolina and me to Tia Juana in Baja California to see Panchito race onthe afternoon of Thanksgiving Day. We will attend mass in San Diego inthe morning and pray for victory for him and his glorious young master."

Big tears stood in Brother Anthony's eyes. At last! At last! PoorBrother Anthony was a human being, albeit his reason tottered on itsthrone at certain times of the moon. He did love race-horses andhorse-races, and for a quarter of a century he had been trying toforget them in the peace and quiet of the garden of the Mission de laMadre Dolorosa.

"Our Don Mike has made this possible?" he quavered. Father Dominicnodded.

"God will pay him," murmured Brother Anthony, and hastened away to thechapel to remind the Almighty of the debt.

Against the journey to Baja California, Carolina had baked a tremendouspot of brown beans and fried a hundred tortillas. Pablo had added sometwenty pounds of jerked meat and chilli peppers, a tarpaulin Don Mikehad formerly used when camping, and a roll of bedding; and when BrotherAnthony called for them at daylight the following morning, both were upand arrayed in their Sunday clothes and gayest colors. In an emptytobacco sack, worn like an amulet around her fat neck and resting onher bosom, Carolina carried some twenty-eight dollars earned as alaundress to Kay and her mother; while in the pocket of Pablo's newcorduroy breeches reposed the two hundred-dollar bills; given him bythe altogether inexplicable Señor Parker. Knowing Brother Anthony tobe absolutely penniless (for he had taken the vow of poverty) Pablosuffered keenly in the realization that Panchito, the pride of ElPalomar, was to run in the greatest horse race known to man, with not acentavo of Brother Anthony's money bet on the result. Pablo knewbetter than to take Father Dominic into his confidence when the latterjoined them at the Mission, but by the time they had reached El Toro,he had solved the riddle. He changed one of his hundred dollar bills,made up a little roll of ten two-dollar bills and slipped it in thepocket of the brown habit where he knew Brother Anthony kept hiscigarette papers and tobacco.

At Ventura, when they stopped at a garage to take on oil and gasoline,Brother Anthony showed Pablo the roll of bills, amounting to twentydollars, and ascribed his possession of them to nothing more nor lessthan a divine miracle. Pablo agreed with him. He also noticed thatfor reasons best known to himself, Brother Anthony made no mention ofthis miracle to his superior, Father Dominic.

At about two o'clock on Thanksgiving Day the pilgrims from the SanGregorio sputtered up to the entrance of the Lower California JockeyClub at Tia Juana, parked, and approached the entrance. They werehesitant, awed by the scenes around them. Father Dominic's rusty brownhabit and his shovel hat constituted a novel sight in these worldlyprecincts, and the old Fedora hat worn by Brother Anthony was thesubject of many a sly nudge and smile. Pablo and Carolina, beingtypical of the country, passed unnoticed.

Father Dominic had approached the gateman and in his gentle old voicehad inquired the price of admittance. It was two dollars and fiftycents! Scandalous! He was about to beat the gatekeeper down; surelythe management had special rates for prelates———

A hand fell on his shoulder and Don Miguel José Maria Federico NoriagaFarrel was gazing down at him with beaming eyes.

"Perhaps, Father Dominic," he suggested in Spanish and employing theold-fashioned courtly tone of the haciendado, "you will permit me thegreat honor of entertaining you." And he dropped a ten-dollar bill inthe cash box and ushered the four San Gregoriaños through theturn-stile.

"My son, my son," murmured Father Dominic. "What means thisunaccustomed dress? One would think you dwelt in the City of Mexico.You are unshaven—you resemble a loafer in cantinas. That sombrerois, perhaps, fit for a bandit like Pancho Villa, but, my son, you arean American gentleman. Your beloved grandfather and your equallybeloved father never assumed the dress of our people———"

"Hush! I'm a wild and woolly Mexican sport for a day, padre. Saynothing and bid the others be silent and make no comment. Come with meto the grandstand, all of you, and look at the races. Panchito willnot appear until the fifth race."

Father Dominic bent upon Brother Anthony a glance which had the effectof propelling the brother out of earshot, whereupon the old friar tookhis young friend by the arm and lifted his seamed, sweet old facetoward him with all the insouciance of a child.

"Miguel," he whispered, "I'm in the throes of temptation. I told youof the thousand dollars which the Señora Parker, in a moment of thatgreat-heartedness which distinguishes her (what a triumph, could I butbaptize her in our faith!) forced Señor Parker to present to me. Icontemplate using it toward the needed repairs to the roof of ourMission. These repairs will cost at least three thousand dollars, andthe devil has whispered to me———"

"Say no more about it, but bet the money," said Miguel. "Be a sport,Father Dominic, for the opportunity will never occur again. Before thesun shall set this day, your one thousand will have grown to ten. Evenif Panchito should lose, I will guarantee you the return of your money."

Father Dominic trembled. "Ah, my son, I feel like a little old devil,"he quavered, but—he protested no more. When Don Mike settled him in aseat in the grand-stand, Father Dominic whispered wistfully, "God willnot hold this worldliness against me, Miguel. I feel I am here on Hisbusiness, for is not Panchito running for a new roof for our belovedMission? I will pray for victory."

"Now you are demonstrating your sound common sense," Don Mike assuredhim. His right hand closed over the roll of bills Father Dominicsurreptitiously slipped him. Scarcely had he transferred theRestoration Fund to his trousers' pocket when Brother Anthony nudgedhim and slipped a tiny roll into Don Miguel's left hand, accompanyingthe secret transfer with a wink that was almost a sermon.

"What news, Don Miguel?" Pablo ventured presently.

"We will win, Pablo."

"Valgame dios! I will wager my fortune on Panchito. Here it is, DonMiguel—one hundred and eighty dollars. I know not the ways of theseGringo races, but if the stakeholder be an honest man and knownpersonally to you, I will be your debtor forever if you will graciouslyconsent to attend to this detail for me."

"With pleasure, Pablo."

Carolina drew her soiled little tobacco bag from her bosom, bit thestring in two and handed bag and contents to her master, who nodded andthrust it in his pocket.

Two tiers up and directly in back of Don Miguel and his guests, two menglanced meaningly at each other.

"Did you twig that?" one of them whispered. "That crazy Greaser is alocal favorite, wherever he comes from. Those two monks and thatcholo and his squaw are giving him every dollar they possess to beton this quarter horse entered in a long race, and I'll bet fivethousand dollars he'll drop it into that machine, little realizing thatevery dollar he bets on his horse here will depress the oddsproportionately."

"It's a shame, Joe, to see all that good money dropping into the maw ofthose Paris Mutuel sharks. Joe, we ought to be kicked if we allow it."

"Can you speak Spanish?"

"Not a word."

"Well, let's get an interpreter. That Tia Juana policeman yonder willdo."

"All right. I'll split the pot with you, old timer."

Directly after the first race a Mexican policeman touched Farrel on thearm. "Your pardon, señor," he murmured politely, "but two Americangentlemen have asked me to convey to you a message of importance. Willthe señor be good enough to step down to the betting ring with me?"

"With the utmost delight," Don Miguel replied in his mother tongue andfollowed the policeman, who explained as they proceeded toward thebetting ring the nature of the message.

"These two gentlemen," he exclaimed, "are book-makers. Whilebook-makers who lay their own odds are not permitted to operate openlyand with the approval of the track authorities, there are a number ofsuch operating quietly here. One may trust them implicitly. Theyalways pay their losses—what you call true blue sports. They havemuch money and it is their business in life to take bets. These twogentlemen are convinced that your horse, Panchito, cannot possibly winthis race and they are prepared to offer you odds of ten to one for asmuch money as the señor cares to bet. They will not move from yourside until the race is run and the bet decided. The odds they offeryou are greater than you can secure playing your money in the Mutuel."

Don Mike halted in his tracks. "I have heard of such men. I observedthe two who talked with you and the jefe politico assured meyesterday that they are reliable gentlemen. I am prepared to trustthem. Why not? Should they attempt to escape with my money whenPanchito wins—as win he will—I would quickly stop those finefellows." He tapped his left side under the arm-pit, and while thepoliceman was too lazy and indifferent to feel this spot himself, heassumed that a pistol nestled there.

"I will myself guard your bet," he promised.

They had reached the two book-makers and the policeman promptlycommunicated to them Don Mike's ultimatum. The pair exchanged glances.

"If we don't take this lunatic's money," one of them suggestedpresently, "some other brave man will. I'm game."

"It's a shame to take it, but—business is business," his companionlaughed. Then to the policeman: "How much is our high-toned Mexicanfriend betting and what odds does he expect?"

The policeman put the question. The high-toned Mexican gentleman bowedelaborately and shrugged deprecatingly. Such a little bet! Truly, hewas ashamed, but the market for steers down south had been none toogood lately, and as for hides, one could not give them away. TheAmerican gentlemen would think him a very poor gambler, indeed, buttwelve hundred and twenty-eight dollars was his limit, at odds of tento one. If they did not care to trifle with such a paltry bet, hecould not blame them, but———

"Holy Mackerel. Ten to one. Joe, this is like shooting fish on ahillside. I'll take half of it."

"I'll take what's left."

They used their cards to register the bet and handed the memorandum toDon Mike, who showed his magnificent white teeth in his most engagingsmile, bowed, and insisted upon shaking hands with them both, afterwhich the quartet sauntered back to the grand-stand and sat down amongthe old shepherd and his flock.

As the bugle called out the horses for the handicap, Father Dominicceased praying and craned forward. There were ten horses in the race,and the old priest's faded eyes popped with wonder and delight as thesleek, beautiful thoroughbreds pranced out of the paddock and passed insingle file in front of the grand-stand. The fifth horse in the paradewas Panchito—and somebody had cleaned him up, for his satiny skinglowed in the semi-tropical sun. All the other horses in the race hadribbons interlaced in their manes and tails, but Panchito was barren ofadornment.

"Well, Don Quixote has had him groomed and they've combed the cactusburrs out of his mane and tail, at any rate. He'd be a beautifulanimal if he was dolled up like the others," the book-maker, Joe,declared.

"Got racing plates on to-day, and that cholo kid sits him like heintended to ride him," his companion added. "Joe, I have a suspicionthat nag is a ringer. He looks like a champion."

"If he wins we'll know he's a ringer," Joe replied complacently."We'll register a protest at once. Of course, the horse is royallybred, but he hasn't been trained, he's never been on a track before andeven if he has speed, both early and late, he'll probably be left atthe post. He's carrying one hundred and eighteen pounds and a greencholo kid has the leg up. No chance, I tell you. Forget it."

Don Mike, returning from the paddock after saddling Panchito and givingAllesandro his final instructions, sat majestically in his seat, butFather Dominic, Brother Anthony, Pablo and Carolina paid vociferoustribute to their favorite and the little lad who rode him.Allesandro's swarthy hands and face were sharply outlined against aplain white jockey suit; somebody had loaned him a pair of riding bootsand a cap of red, white and blue silk. This much had Don Mikesacrificed for convention, but not the willow switch. Allesandro wavedit at his master and his grandparents as he filed past.

Pablo stood up and roared in English: "Kai! Allesandro! Eef youdon' win those race you grandfather hee's goin' cut you throat sure. Ilook to you all the time, muchacho. You keep the mind on thebus-i-ness. You hear, Allesandro mio?"

Allesandro nodded, the crowd laughed and the horses went to the post.They were at the post a minute, but got away to a perfect start.

"Sancho Panza leads on Panchito!" the book-maker, Joe, declared as thefield swept past the grand-stand. He was following the flying horsesthrough his racing glasses. "Quarter horse," he informed hiscompanion. "Beat the gate like a shot out of a gun. King Agrippa, thefavorite, second by two lengths. Sir Galahad third. At the quarter!Panchito leads by half a length, Sir Galahad second. King Agrippathird! At the half! Sir Galahad first, Panchito second, King Agrippathird! At the three-quarter pole! King Agrippa first, Panchitosecond, Polly P. third. Galahad's out of it. Polly P's making herspurt, but she can't last. Into the stretch with Panchito on the railand coming like he'd been sent for and delayed. Oh, Lord, Jim, that'sa horse—and we thought he was a goat! Look at him come! He's an openlength in front of Agrippa and the cholo hasn't used his willowswitch. Jim, we're sent to the cleaner's———"

It was a Mexican race-track, but the audience was American and it isthe habit of Americans to cheer a winner, regardless of how they havebet their money. A great sigh went up from the big holiday crowd.Then, "Panchito! Come on, you Panchito! Come on, Agrippa! Ride him,boy, ride him!" A long, hoarse howl that carried with it the hint ofsobs.

At the paddock the gallant King Agrippa gave of the last and the bestthat was in him and closed the gap in a dozen furious jumps until, asthe field swept past the grand-stand, Panchito and King Agrippa werefor a few seconds on such even terms that a sudden hush fell on therace-mad crowd. Would this be a dead heat? Would this unknownPanchito, fresh from the cattle ranges, divide first money with thefavorite?

The silence was broken by a terrible cry from Pablo Artelan.

"Allesandro! I cut your throat!"

Whether Allesandro heard the warning or whether he had decided thataffairs had assumed a dangerous pass, matters not. He rose a trifle inhis saddle, leaned far out on Panchito's withers and delivered himselfof a tribal yell. It was a cry meant for Panchito, and evidentlyPanchito understood, for he responded with the only answer a gallantrace-horse has for such occasions. A hundred feet from the wire KingAgrippa's wide-flung nostrils were at Panchito's saddle girth; underthe stimulus of a rain of blows he closed the gap again, only to dropback and finish with daylight showing between his head and Panchito'sflowing tail.

Father Dominic stood gazing down the track. He was tremblingviolently. Brother Anthony turned lack-luster eyes toward Farrel.

"You win, Brother Anthony," Don Mike said quietly.

"How good is God," murmured Brother Anthony. "He has granted me a joyaltogether beyond my deserts. And the joy is sufficient. The moneywill buy a few shingles for our roof." He slumped down in his seat andwiped away great tears.

Pablo waited not for congratulations or exultations, but scrambled downthrough the grand-stand to the railing, climbed over it and droppeddown into the track, along which he jogged until he met Allesandrogalloping slowly back with Panchito. "Little treasure of the world,"he cried to the boy, "I am happy that I do not have to cut yourthroat," and he lifted Allesandro out of the saddle and pressed him tohis heart. That was the faint strain of Catalonian blood in Pablo.

Up in the grand-stand Carolina, in her great excitement, forgot thatshe was Farrel's cook. When he was a baby she had nursed him and sheloved him for that. So she waddled down to him with beaming eyes—andhe patted her cheek.

"Father Dominic," Don Mike called to the old friar, "your MissionRestoration Fund has been increased ten thousand dollars."

"So?" the gentle old man echoed. "Behold, Miguel, the goodness of God.He willed that Panchito should save for you from the heathen one littleportion of our dear land; He was pleased to answer my prayers of fiftyyears that I be permitted to live until I had restored the Mission ofour Mother of Sorrows." He closed his eyes. "So many long years thepriest," he murmured, "so many long years! And I am base enough to behappy in worldly pleasures. I am still a little old devil."

Don Mike turned to the stunned book-makers. "For some reason bestknown to yourselves," he addressed them in English, bowing graciously,"you two gentlemen have seen fit to do business with me through thisexcellent representative of the civil authority of Tia Juana. We willdispense with his services, if you have no objection. Here, my goodfellow," he added, and handed the policeman a ten-dollar bill.

"You're not a Mexican. You're an American," the book-maker Joe criedaccusingly, "although you bragged like a Mexican."

"Quite right. I never claimed to be a Mexican, however. I heard aboutthis Thanksgiving Handicap, and it seemed such a splendid opportunityto pick up a few thousand dollars that I entered my horse. I havecomplied with all the rules. This race was open to four-year-olds andup, regardless of whether they had been entered in a race previously orhad won or lost a race. Panchito's registration will bearinvestigation; so will his history. My jockey rode under an apprenticelicense. May I trouble you for a settlement, gentlemen?"

"But your horse is registered under a Mexican's name, as owner."

"My name is Miguel José Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel."

"We'll see the judges first, Señor Farrel."

"By all means."

"You bet we will. The judges smell a rat, already. The winningnumbers haven't been posted yet."

As Don Mike and his retinue passed the Parker box, John Parker andDanny Leighton fell in behind them and followed to the judges' stand.Five minutes later the anxious crowd saw Panchito's number go up as thewinner. Don Mike's frank explanation that he had deceived nobody, buthad, by refraining from doing things in the usual manner, induced thepublic to deceive itself and refrain from betting on Panchito, couldnot be gainsaid—particularly when an inspection of the records at thebetting ring proved that not a dollar had been wagered on Panchito.

"You played the books throughout the country, Mr. Farrel?" one of thejudges asked.

Don Mike smiled knowingly. "I admit nothing," he replied.

The testimony of Parker and Danny Leighton was scarcely needed toconvince the judges that nothing illegal had been perpetrated. WhenDon Mike had collected his share of the purse and the book-makers,convinced that they had been out-generaled and not swindled, had issuedchecks for their losses and departed, smiling, John Parker drew Farrelaside.

"Son," he demanded, "did you spoil the Egyptians and put over a Romanholiday?"

Again Don Mike smiled his enigmatic smile. "Well," he admitted, "I'mready to do a little mortgage lifting."

"I congratulate you with all my heart. For heaven's sake, take up yourmortgage immediately. I do not wish to acquire your ranch—that way.I have never wished to, but if that droll scoundrel, Bill Conway,hadn't managed to dig up unlimited backing to build that dam despiteme, and if Panchito hadn't cinched your case for you to-day, I wouldhave had no mercy on you. But I'm glad you won. You have a head andyou use it; you possess the power of decision, of initiative, you're asporting, kindly young gentleman and I count it a privilege to haveknown you." He thrust out his hand and Don Mike shook it heartily.

"Of course, sir," he told Parker, "King Agrippa is a good horse, butnobody would ever think of entering him in a real classic. I toldAllesandro to be careful not to beat him too far. The time was nothingremarkable and I do not think I have spoiled your opportunity forwinning with him in the Derby."

"I noticed that. Thank you. And you'll loan him to me to beat thatold scoundrel I told you about?"

"You'll have to arrange that matter with your daughter, sir. I haveraced my first and my last race for anything save the sport of ahorse-race, and I am now about to present Panchito to Miss Kay."

"Present him? Why, you star-spangled idiot, I offered you fifteenthousand dollars for him and you knew then I would have gone to fiftythousand."

Don Mike laid a patronizing hand on John Parker's shoulder. "Oldsettler, you're buying Panchito and you're paying a heavier price thanyou realize, only, like the overcoat in the traveling salesman'sexpense account, the item isn't apparent. I'm going to sell you a dam,the entire Agua Caliente Basin and watershed riparian rights, a sitefor a power station and a right of way for power transmission linesover my ranch. In return, you're going to agree to furnish me withsufficient water from your dam, in perpetuity, to irrigate every acreof the San Gregorio Valley."

John Parker could only stare, amazed. "On one condition, Miguel," hereplied presently. "Not an acre of the farm lands of the San Gregorioshall ever be sold, without a proviso in the deed that it shall neverbe sold or leased to any alien ineligible to citizenship."

"Oh, ho! So you've got religion, eh?"

"I have. Pablo dragged it into the yard last spring at the end of hisriata, and it lies buried in the San Gregorio. That makes the SanGregorio consecrated ground. I always had an idea I was a pretty fairAmerican, but I dare say there's room for improvement. What do youwant for that power property?"

"I haven't the least idea. We'll get together with experts some dayand arrive at an equitable price.

"Thank you son. I'll not argue with you. You've given me afirst-class thrashing and the man who can do that is quite a fellow.Nevertheless, I cannot see now where I erred in playing the game. Mindtelling me, boy?"

"Not at all. It occurred to me—assistance by Bill Conway—that thisproperty must be of vital interest to two power companies, the CentralCalifornia Power Company and the South Coast Power Corporation. Twohypotheses presented themselves for consideration. First, if you weredeveloping the property personally, you had no intention of operatingit yourself. You intended to sell it. Second, you were not developingit personally, but as the agent of one of the two power companies Imentioned. I decided that the latter was the best hypothesis uponwhich to proceed. You are a multi-millionaire trained in the fine artof juggling corporations. In all probability you approached my fatherwith an offer to buy the ranch and he declined. He was old and he wassentimental, and he loved me and would not sell me out of mybirthright. You had to have that ranch, and since you couldn't buy ityou decided to acquire it by foreclosure. To do that, however, you hadto acquire the mortgage, and in order to acquire the mortgage you hadto acquire a controlling interest in the capital stock of the FirstNational Bank of El Toro. You didn't seem to fit into the small townbanking business; a bank with a million dollars capital is small changeto you."

"Proceed. You're on the target, son, and something tells me you'regoing to score a bull's-eye in a minute."

"When you had acquired the mortgage following such patient steps, myfather checkmated you by making and recording a deed of gift of theranch to me, subject of course to the encumbrance. The war-timemoratorium, which protected men in the military or naval service fromcivil actions, forced you to sit tight and play a waiting game. Then Iwas reported killed in action. My poor father was in a quandary. Ashe viewed it, the ranch now belonged to my estate, and I had diedintestate. Probate proceedings dragging over a couple of years werenow necessary, and a large inheritance tax would have been assessedagainst the estate. My father broke under the blow and you tookpossession. Then I returned—and you know the rest.

"I knew you were powerful enough to block any kind of a banking loan Imight try to secure and I was desperate until Bill Conway managed toarrange for his financing. Then, of course, I realized my power. Withthe dam completed before the redemption period should expire, I hadsomething definite and tangible to offer the competitor of the powercompany in which you might be interested. I was morally certain Icould save my ranch, so I disabused my mind of worry."

"Your logical conclusions do credit to your intelligence, Miguel.Proceed."

"I purchased, through my attorney, a fat little block of stock in eachcompany. That gave me entrée to the company books and records. Icouldn't pick up your trail with the first company investigated—theCentral California—but before my attorney could proceed to Los Angelesand investigate the list of stockholders and directors of the SouthCoast Power Corporation, a stranger appeared at my attorney's officeand proceeded to make overtures for the purchase of the Agua Calienteproperty on behalf of an unknown client. That man was in conferencewith my attorney the day we all motored to El Toro via La QuestaValley, and the instant I poked my nose inside the door my attorneyadvised me—in Spanish,—which is really the mother tongue of ElToro—to trail his visitor. Out in the hall I met my dear friend, DonNicolás Sandoval, the sheriff of San Marcos County, and delegated thejob to him. Don Nicolás trailed this stranger to the First NationalBank of El Toro and observed him in conference with the vice-president;from the First National Bank of El Toro Don Nicolás shadowed his man tothe office of the president of the South Coast Power Corporation, inLos Angeles.

"We immediately opened negotiations with the Central California PowerCompany and were received with open arms. But, strange to relate, weheard no more from the South Coast Power Corporation. Very strange,indeed, in view of the fact that my attorney had assured theirrepresentative of my very great desire to discuss the deal if and whenan offer should be made me."

John Parker was smiling broadly. "Hot, red hot, son," he assuredFarrel. "Good nose for a long, cold trail."

"I decided to smoke you out, so arbitrarily I terminated negotiationswith the Central California Power Company. It required all of my owncourage and some of Bill Conway's to do it, but—we did it. Withinthree days our Los Angeles friend again arrived in El Toro andsubmitted an offer higher than the one made us by the CentralCalifornia Power Company. So then I decided to shadow you, thepresident of the South Coast Power Corporation, and the president ofthe Central California Power Company. On the fifteenth day of October,at eight o'clock, p.m., all three of you met in the office of yourattorney in El Toro, and when this was reported to me, I sat down anddid some thinking, with the following result:

"The backing so mysteriously given Bill Conway had you worried. Youabandoned all thought of securing the ranch by foreclosure, and mycareless, carefree, indifferent attitude confirmed you in this. Who,but one quite certain of his position, would waste his time watching arace-horse trained? I knew then that news of my overtures to theCentral California people were immediately reported to the South Coastpeople. Evidently you had a spy on the Central California payroll, orelse you and your associates controlled both companies. This lasthypothesis seemed reasonable, in view of the South Coast PowerCorporation's indifference when it seemed that I might do business withthe Central California people, and the sudden revival of the SouthCoast interest when it appeared that negotiations with the Centralpeople were terminated. But after that meeting on the fifteenth ofOctober, my attorney couldn't get a rise out of either corporation, soI concluded that one had swallowed the other, or you had agreed to forma separate corporation to develop and handle the Agua Caliente plant,if and when, no matter how, the ranch should come into your possession.I was so certain you and your fellow-conspirators had concluded tostand pat and await events that I haven't been sleeping very well eversince, although not once did I abandon my confident pose.

"My position was very trying. Even with the dam completed, your powerin financial circles might be such that you could block a new loan or asale of the property, although the completion, of the dam would add avalue of millions to the property and make it a very attractiveinvestment to a great many people. I felt that I could save myself ifI had time, but I might not have time before the redemption periodshould expire. I'd have to lift that mortgage before I could smoke youthree foxes out of your hole and force you to reopen negotiations.Well, the only chance I had for accomplishing that was a longone—Panchito, backed by every dollar I could spare, in theThanksgiving Handicap. I took that chance. I won. Tag! You're It."

"Yes, you've won, Miguel. Personally, it hurt me cruelly to do thethings I did, but I was irrevocably tied up with the others. Ihoped—I almost prayed—that the unknown who was financing Bill Conway,in order to render your property valuable and of quick sale, to saveyour equity, might also give you a loan and enable you to eliminate me.Then my companions in iniquity would be forced to abandon their waitinggame and deal with you. You are right, Miguel. That waiting gamemight have been fatal to you."

"It would have been fatal to me, sir."

"Wouldn't Conway's friend come to your rescue?"

"I am not informed as to the financial resources of Bill Conway'sfriend and, officially, I am not supposed to be aware of that person'sidentity. Conway refused to inform me. I feel assured, however, thatif it were at all possible for this person to save me, I would havebeen saved. However, even to save my ranch, I could not afford tosuggest or request such action."

"Why?"

"Matter of pride. It would have meant the violation of my code in suchmatters."

"Ah, I apprehend. A woman, eh? That dashing Sepulvida girl?"

"Her mother would have saved me—for old sake's sake, but—I would havebeen expected to secure her investment with collateral in the shape ofa six-dollar wedding ring."

"So the old lady wanted you for a son-in-law, eh? Smart woman. Shehas a long, sagacious nose. So she proceeded, unknown to you, tofinance old Conway, eh?"

"No, she did not. Another lady did."

"What a devil you are with the women! Marvelous—for one who doesn'tpay the slightest attention to any of them. May I ask if you are goingto—ah—marry the other lady?

"Well, it would never have occurred to me to propose to her beforePanchito reached the wire first, but now that I am my own man again andable to match her, dollar for dollar, it may be that I shall consideran alliance, provided the lady is gracious enough to regard me withfavor."

"I wish you luck," John Parker replied, coldly. "Let us join theladies."

Three days later, in El Toro, Don Mike and his attorney met inconference with John Parker and his associates in the office of thelatter's attorney and completed the sale of the Agua Caliente propertyto a corporation formed by a merger of the Central California PowerCompany and the South Coast Power Corporation. A release of mortgagewas handed Miguel Farrel as part payment, the remainder being in bondsof the South Coast Power Corporation, to the extent of two milliondollars. In return, Farrel delivered a deed to the Agua Calienteproperty and right of way and a dismissal, by Bill Conway, of his suitfor damages against John Parker, in return for which John Parkerpresented Farrel an agreement to reimburse Bill Conway of all moneysexpended by him and permit him to complete the original contract forthe dam.

"Well, that straightens out our muchly involved affairs," John Parkerdeclared. "Farrel, you've gotten back your ranch, with the exceptionof the Agua Caliente Basin, which wasn't worth a hoot to you anyway,you have two million dollars in good sound bonds and all the money youwon on Panchito. By the way, if I may be pardoned for my curiosity,how much money did you actually win that day?"

Don Mike smiled, reread his release of mortgage, gathered up his bundleof bonds, backed to the door, opened it and stood there, paused fornight.

"Gentlemen," he declared, "I give you my word of honor—no, I'll giveyou a Spaniard's oath—I swear, by the virtue of my dead mother and thehonor of my dead father, I did not bet one single centavo on Panchitofor myself, although I did negotiate bets for Brother Anthony, FatherDominic, and my servants, Pablo and Carolina. Racing horses andbetting on horse-racing has proved very disastrous to theNoriaga-Farrel tribe, and the habit ceased with the last survivor ofour dynasty. I'm not such a fool, Señor Parker, as to risk my prideand my position and my sole hope of a poor but respectable future bybetting the pitiful remnant of my fortune on a horse-race. No, sir,not if Panchito had been entered against a field of mules. Adios,señores!"

"In the poetical language of your wily Latin ancestors," John Parkeryelled after him, "Adios! Go with God!" He turned to his amazedassociates. "How would you old penny-pinchers and porch-climbers liketo have a broth of a boy like that fellow for a son-in-law?" hedemanded.

"Alas! My only daughter has already made me a grandfather," sighed thepresident of the Central California Power Company.

"Let's make him president of the merger," the president of the SouthCoast Power Corporation suggested. "He ought to make good. He held usup with a gun that wasn't loaded. Whew-w-w! Boys! Whatever happens,let us keep this a secret, Parker."

"Secret your grandmother! I'm going to tell the world. We deserve it.Moreover, that fine lad is going to marry my daughter; she's the geniuswho double-crossed her own father and got behind Bill Conway. Godbless her. God bless him. Nobody can throttle my pride in that boyand his achievements. You two tried to mangle him and you forced me toplay your game. While he was earning the medal of honor from Congress,I sat around planning to parcel out his ranch to a passel of Japs.I'll never be done with hating myself."

That night at the hacienda, Don Mike, taking advantage of Kay'smomentary absence, drew Mr. and Mrs. Parker aside.

"I have the honor to ask you both for permission to seek yourdaughter's hand in marriage," he announced with that charming,old-fashioned Castilian courtliness which never failed to impress Mrs.Parker. Without an instant's hesitation she lifted her handsome faceand kissed him.

"I move we make it unanimous," Parker suggested, and gripped Don Mike'shand.

"Fine," Don Mike cried happily. He was no longer the least bitCastilian; he was all Gaelic-American. "Please clear out and let mehave air," he pleaded, and fled from the room. In the garden he metKay, and without an instant's hesitation took her by the arm and ledher over to the sweet lime tree.

"Kay," he began, "on such a moonlit night as this, on this same spot,my father asked my mother to marry him. Kay, dear, I love you. Ialways shall, I have never been in love before and I shall never be inlove again. There's just enough Celt in me to make me a one-girl man,and since that day on the train when you cut my roast beef because myhand was crippled, you've been the one girl in the world for me. Untilto-day, however, I did not have the right to tell you this and to askyou, as I now do, if you love me enough to marry me; if you think youcould manage to live with me here most of the time—after I've restoredthe old place somewhat. Will you marry me, Kay—ah, you will, youwill!"

She was in his arms, her flower face upturned to his for his first kiss.

They were married in the quaint, old-world chapel of the now restoredMission de la Madre Dolorosa by Father Dominic, and in accordance withancient custom, revived for the last time, the master of Palomar gavehis long-delayed fiesta and barbecue, and the rich and the poor,honest men and wastrels, the gente and the peons of San MarcosCounty came to dance at his wedding.

Their wedding night Don Mike and his bride spent, unattended save forPablo and Carolina, in the home of his ancestors. It was stilldaylight when they found themselves speeding the last departing weddingguest; hand in hand they seated themselves on the old bench under thecatalpa tree and gazed down into the valley. There fell between themthe old sweet silence that comes when hearts are too filled withhappiness to find expression in words. From the Mission de la MadreDolorosa there floated up to them the mellow music of the Angelus; thehills far to the west were still alight on their crests, although theshadows were long in the valley, and Don Mike, gazing down on hiskingdom regained, felt his heart filled to overflowing.

His wife interrupted his meditations. He was to learn later that thisis a habit of all wives.

"Miguel, dear, what are you thinking about?"

"I cannot take time to tell you now, Kay, because my thoughts, iftransmuted into print, would fill a book. Mostly, however, I have beenthinking how happy and fortunate I am, and how much I love you andthat—yonder. And when I look at it I am reminded that but for you itwould not be mine. Mine? I loathe the word. From this dayforward—ours! I have had the ranch homesteaded, little wife. Itbelongs to us both now. I owed you so much that I could never repay incash—and I couldn't speak about it until I had the right—and now thatBill Conway has taken up all of his promissory notes to you, and hissuit against your father has been dismissed and we've all smoked thepipe of peace, I've come to the conclusion that I cannot keep a secretany longer. Oh, my dear, my dear, you loved me so you wouldn't letthem hurt me, would you?"

She was holding his hand in both of hers and she bent now and kissedthe old red scar in the old tender, adoring way; but said nothing. Sohe was moved to query:

"And you, little wife—what are you thinking of now?"

"I was thinking, my husband, of the words of Ruth: entreat me not toleave thee, and to return from following after thee: for whither thougoest I will go; and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shallbe my people and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, andthere will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aughtbut death part thee and me.'"