hat he had written was true
poetry or doggerel. He distrusted profoundly his own judgment. He must
have the opinion of some one else, some one competent to judge. He could
not wait; to-morrow would not do. He must know to a certainty before he
could rest that night.

He made a careful copy of what he had written, and putting on his hat
and laced boots, went down stairs and out upon the lawn, crossing over
to the stables. He found Phelps there, washing down the buckboard.

"Do you know where Vanamee is to-day?" he asked the latter. Phelps put
his chin in the air.

"Ask me something easy," he responded. "He might be at Guadalajara, or
he might be up at Osterman's, or he might be a hundred miles away from
either place. I know where he ought to be, Mr. Presley, but that ain't
saying where the crazy gesabe is. He OUGHT to be range-riding over east
of Four, at the head waters of Mission Creek."

"I'll try for him there, at all events," answered Presley. "If you see
Harran when he comes in, tell him I may not be back in time for supper."

Presley found the pony in the corral, cinched the saddle upon him, and
went off over the Lower Road, going eastward at a brisk canter.

At Hooven's he called a "How do you do" to Minna, whom he saw lying in a
slat hammock under the mammoth live oak, her foot in bandages; and
then galloped on over the bridge across the irrigating ditch, wondering
vaguely what would become of such a pretty girl as Minna, and if in
the end she would marry the Portuguese foreman in charge of the
ditching-gang. He told himself that he hoped she would, and that
speedily. There was no lack of comment as to Minna Hooven about the
ranches. Certainly she was a good girl, but she was seen at all hours
here and there about Bonneville and Guadalajara, skylarking with the
Portuguese farm hands of Quien Sabe and Los Muertos. She was very
pretty; the men made fools of themselves over her. Presley hoped they
would not end by making a fool of her.

Just beyond the irrigating ditch, Presley left the Lower Road, and
following a trail that branched off southeasterly from this point, held
on across the Fourth Division of the ranch, keeping the Mission Creek
on his left. A few miles farther on, he went through a gate in a barbed
wire fence, and at once engaged himself in a system of little arroyos
and low rolling hills, that steadily lifted and increased in size as
he proceeded. This higher ground was the advance guard of th