tnessed the fact that culture was believed in, even pursued.

The other buildings were less imposing. There was the butcher's place, a
small adobe with a fenced-in yard. As Mendoza's car drove past it, the
butcher, with sanguinary intentions, was occupied in driving a wise and
reluctant young steer around the yard. A little further along was the
Roman Catholic Church--a Penitentes church, by the way, and the little
house of Father Silva, who officiated. Further still was a long low
building which had once been a livery stable, but which had been altered
to meet the needs of a moving picture theatre, and the Commonwealth House,
kept by Sam Penhallow, who varied the monotony of hotel keeping by
exercising the duties of sheriff of the county. He it was who had crossed
the line after the kidnapped young lady. The newspapers had featured him
as a Texas Ranger, which he was not and never had been, but that was
rather a near thing for a newspaper.

Penhallow was a tall, thin, brown-skinned man, who wore checked suits and
who had the long drooping mustache which fiction assigns to the calling of
a sheriff. Whether fiction is right in this particular, or whether Sam
wore the mustache to conform with the best standards, is not important. He
was sitting in a tilted chair, on the narrow strip of flooring which
served the hotel as a veranda when Mendoza and his party wheezed into
view.

Penhallow's conventional welcome expanded into real warmth when he
recognized Scott, who was well known in Chula Vista.

"Hullo," he said, his hand outstretched. "If it ain't Marc Scott! Drive
you out down there, did they? Well, Mendoza--blamed if I didn't think you
was dead long ago! No, I don't guess I know the ladies or your other
friend, but any friend of Scott's has got the keys of the city all right."
He turned and called into the house: "Mabel, come out here!"

"One of these ladies, Miss Street, is on her way to Chicago," said Scott.
Polly, restored to good looks by a few days rest and her prettiest lace
blouse, beamed on Mr. Penhallow with the usual result. "Mrs. Conrad,"
continued Scott, "is a friend of ours and is going back with the young
lady. No, we weren't driven out but things are rather bad down yonder."

"Well, you ladies sure have courage, travelin' round at this time," said
the admiring Penhallow. A tall pretty girl appeared in the doorway and was
introduced as "my daughter, Mabel, who runs the ranch. Mabel, show these
ladies