om the ditch a block or more to the east and
surrounded a flat-roofed, square adobe house. A wide veranda, its
white pillars covered with rose and honeysuckle vines, ran around the
house, and a square of lawn, with shrubs and flowers and trees, filled
the yard. A little boy, perhaps four years old, with flaxen curls
floating about his neck, played in the shade of a fig tree beside the
veranda.

Down the dusty road which wound a white strip over the pale,
gray-green upland and merged into the street which passed this house,
a man came riding at a leisurely lope. He was tall and broad
shouldered, straight in the back and trim in the girth, and he sat his
horse with the easy, unconscious grace of a man who has lived much in
the saddle. His black sombrero shaded a dark-skinned face, tanned to a
rosy brown. An unshaven stubble of beard darkened his cheeks and a
soft, drooping, black mustache covered his lip. A constant smile
seemed lurking in the corners of his mouth and in his brown eyes. But
his face was square, firm-jawed and resolute, and had in it the look
of a man accustomed to meet men on their own ground and to ask favors
of none.

He checked his horse to a slow trot and, without turning his head,
searched with a sidewise glance the yard and veranda of the adobe
house. When he saw a flutter of pink inside a window he stopped at the
gate and called to the child:

"Hello, little Bye-Bye! Don't you want a ride?"

The child ran to the gate with a shout of welcome.

"Better ask your sister if you can come."

"Daisy! Daisy! May I go?" the boy called, running back to the porch. A
young woman in a pale pink muslin gown came out and led the child to
the gate.

"Good morning, Miss Delarue. May I take little Bye-Bye for a ride?"

The roses in her cheeks deepened as she looked up and saw the
admiration in his eyes.

"Certainly, Mr. Mead. It is very kind of you, I'm sure. But please
don't take him far."

The boy, shouting with laughter, was lifted to the saddle in front of
the rider, and the girl, smiling in sympathy with his delight, leaned
against the gate watching them. She was tall, with the broad
shoulders, deep bosom, slender waist, and clear, blooming complexion
that tell of English nativity. Her eyes were blue, the soft, dark blue
of the cornflower, and her face, a long, thin oval, was gentle and
sweet in expression. Her light brown hair, which shone with an elusive
glimmer of gold in the sunlight, was gathe