tory had not
come.

"I hope you ride?" he said, and as she nodded: "that's good. Maybe we can
get up a party to ride across the mesa to Casa Grande. That's Herrick's
place."

"Herrick?"

"Yes. Queer chap--part German and part English. Artistic, you know--plays
the piano and sings."

"What's he doing here if he's an artist?" demanded Polly.

"Runs a ranch and writes music. His wife died suddenly--she used to travel
around with him and sing his songs--they made a pile of money, I guess."

"You don't mean Victor Herrick!" gasped the girl.

"Yes, that's him. He went to pieces when she died and packed up his piano
and his music and came down here and buried himself on the ranch. Queer
customer, but you'll like him."

"And to think that Bob Street never wrote me that Victor Herrick was a
neighbor of his--and then wrote pages of stuff about those old Morgans!"
said Polly, indignantly. "Why, I've heard the Herricks sing--they were
wonderful! Men haven't any sense."

"Oh, well, he likes the Morgans. She's a jolly kind of woman, invites a
fellow to dinner and feeds him up, you know," said Jimmy, seriously.
"They're real folks, the Morgans are, and Herrick's a sort of a nut, don't
you see?" He threw open the door of the office abruptly. "Here's the
office, where the manager sits with his feet on the desk while the rest of
us work."

Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly.

"Hullo, Jimmy," he said, with a grin. "Do you know whether Johnson's gone
yet? Well, go over and tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan's and tell her
that the young lady got here safely; I can't get Conejo on the wire."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!" said the girl, eagerly. "She meant to be
awfully kind but she was worried to death about those children. I was too
tired to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get away from
Conejo."

"You're not the first person who's been struck that way," grinned Adams,
as he left the office.

"Hard tells me he has been talking to you about Juan Pachuca," said Scott,
smiling.

"Well, you wouldn't, so I had to ask somebody else," replied Polly. "I'm
interested in him."

"So I noticed. Can't you pick out something a little more like home-folks
to be interested in? Remember the fellow who tried to bring up the tiger
cub?"

"What happened to him?" Polly smiled up into Scott's face. There was
something about Scotty that appealed to you even when you were actively
engaged in dislikin