anxiously looking back "to see the
shooting."

The young Spaniard, equally oblivious of humor or curiosity, remained
impassive.

"You know Mr. Slinn, of the 'Record," said Mamie, "don't you?"

Don Caesar had never before met the Senor Esslinn. He was under the
impression that it was a Senor Robinson that was of the "Record."

"Oh, HE was shot," said Slinn. "I'm taking his place."

"Bueno! To be shot too? I trust not."

Slinn looked quickly and sharply into Don Caesar's grave face. He
seemed to be incapable of any double meaning. However, as he had no
serious reason for awakening Don Caesar's jealousy, and very little
desire to become an embarrassing third in this conversation, and
possibly a burden to the young lady, he proceeded to take his leave of
her. From a sudden feminine revulsion of sympathy, or from some
unintelligible instinct of diplomacy, Mamie said, as she extended her
hand, "I hope you'll find a home for your family near here. Mamma
wants pa to let our old house. Perhaps it might suit you, if not too
far from your work. You might speak to ma about it."

"Thank you; I will," responded the young man, pressing her hand with
unaffected cordiality.

Don Caesar watched him until he had disappeared behind the wayside
buckeyes.

"He is a man of family--this one--your countryman?"

It seemed strange to her to have a mere acquaintance spoken of as "her
countryman"--not the first time nor the last time in her career. As
there appeared no trace or sign of jealousy in her questioner's manner,
she answered briefly but vaguely:

"Yes; it's a shocking story. His father disappeared some years ago,
and he has just found him--a helpless paralytic--in the Sacramento
Hospital. He'll have to support him--and they're very poor."

"So, then, they are not independent of each other always--these fathers
and children of Americans!"

"No," said Mamie, shortly. Without knowing why, she felt inclined to
resent Don Caesar's manner. His serious gravity--gentle and high-bred
as it was, undoubtedly--was somewhat trying to her at times, and seemed
even more so after Slinn's irreverent humor. She picked up her
parasol, a little impatiently, as if to go.

But Don Caesar had already dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree
with a strong lariat that hung at his saddle-bow.

"Let us walk through the woods towards your home. I can return alone
for the horse when you shall dismiss me."

They turned in among t