wn the plantation fairly well. He
got on well with the government, and he organized the peons and fought off
the bandits. Since then, things have gone rather badly; it takes a man to
handle that kind of a situation. I've been raided six times in two years
and my patience is almost gone.

"I wrote up here to Victor; he's always been a good friend of mine--I
studied with him in London, you know, and knew his wife well. He advised
me to sell and go home. I didn't take his advice about selling; I couldn't
get anything decent for the place right now, and I've a fairly good man
running it for me. I have faith in this country and I intend to come back
some day and go on with my plantation."

"You always were plucky, Clara." Hard touched a match to his fire. "But
Mexico's no place for you. Where are you going?"

"I don't know," admitted Clara, frankly. "Back to the States, of course,
but where and for what I don't know. But I hope--my music."

"Your music?"

"Victor says it's not too late--but--well, perhaps. I'm out of the way of
cities, and I've enough so that I don't have to do anything, but--oh, I
would love to be at it again!"

Hard smiled. "You will, Clara. You're not an idler--as I am. You'll be in
the thick of it in no time."

"Ah, you have found one another! I thought perhaps you would." Herrick's
voice broke in upon their talk. He was followed by Polly and Scott, and
introductions and explanations came naturally.

"It's not a Mexican refugee, and it is the lady of the photograph!" Polly
said to herself, triumphantly. "But it doesn't look to me much like a love
affair. They've got over it evidently."

"So you also were raided by Juan Pachuca?" said Mrs. Conrad, as Scott
seated himself beside her. The latter nodded.

"I happened to hear him talking to one of my men," said Herrick, "and
telling him that he had a rendezvous with Angel Gonzales, somewhere in the
vicinity--not too near, I hope. I don't want Angel Gonzales on my place;
I'd rather entertain the devil."

"What a queer name--Angel! Who is he?" asked Polly, curiously. She was
beginning to realize, since she had gotten off her horse and relaxed into
the comfort of an easy chair near the fire, how very tired she was.

"A young ruffian with a price on his head," replied Herrick. "He's half
Indian and half Mexican and they tell me that both halves are very bad
indeed."

"If Gonzales--by the way, Miss Polly, don't mix him up with Pablo Gonzales
who is