absolute stolidity of Tula had left him in doubt as to the outcome if
his little partner had disapproved of his fascinating protegee. He
knew the thing she wanted to know, and asked it.

"Senora, the last band of Indian slaves from Sonora were driven from
the little pueblo of Palomitas at the edge of this ranch. And there
are sisters and mothers here with sick hearts over that raid. Can you
tell me where those women were sent?"

"Which raid was that, and when?" asked Jocasta arousing herself from
some memory in which she had been submerged. "Pardon, senor, I am but
a doleful guest at supper, thinking too deeply of that which sent me
here. Your question?"

He repeated it, and she strove to remember.

"There were many, and no one was told whence they came. It was
supposed they were war prisoners who had to be fed, and were being
sent to grow their own maize. If it were the last band then it would
be the time Conrad had the wound in the face, here, like a knife
thrust, and that----"

"That was the time," interrupted Kit eagerly. "If you can tell us
where those people were sent you will prove the best of blessings to
Mesa Blanca this night."

She smiled sadly at that and looked from him to Tula, whom she
evidently noted for the first time.

"It is long since the word of blessing has been given to Jocasta," she
said wistfully. "It would be a comfort to earn it in this house. But
that band was not sent away,--not far. Something went wrong with the
boat down the coast, I forgot what it was, but there was much trouble,
and the Indians were sent to a plantation of the General Terain until
the boat was ready. I do not know what plantation, except that Conrad
raged about it. He and Don Jose had a quarrel, very terrible! That
wound given to him by a woman made him very difficult; then the
quarrel ended by them drinking together too much. And after that many
things happened very fast, and--I was brought north."

"And the Indians?"

"Senor, I do not think anyone thought again of those Indians. They
are planting maize or cane somewhere along the Rio Sonora."

Tula sank down weeping against the wall, while Valencia stroked her
hair and patted her. Dona Jocasta regarded her curiously.

"To be young enough to weep like that over a sorrow!" she murmured
wistfully. "It is to envy her, and not mourn over her."

"But this weeping is of joy," explained Valencia. "It is as the senor
says, a blessing has come with you over the ha