Governor's Palace. For three hundred years it
had been the seat of turbulent and tragic history. Its solid walls had
withstood many a siege and had stifled the cries of dozens of tortured
prisoners. The mail-clad Spanish explorers Penelosa and De Salivar had
from here set out across the desert on their search for gold and glory.
In one of its rooms the last Mexican governor had dictated his defiance
to General Kearny just before the Stars and Stripes fluttered from its
flagpole. The Spaniard, the Indian, the Mexican, and the American in
turn had written here in action the romance of the Southwest.

The little man was of the outdoors. His soft gray creased hat, the
sun-tan on his face and neck, the direct steadiness of the blue eyes
with the fine lines at the corners, were evidence enough even if he had
not carried in the wrinkles of his corduroy suit about seven pounds of
white powdered New Mexico.

He strolled down the sidewalk in front of the Palace, the while he
chewed tobacco absent-mindedly. There was something very much on his
mind, so that it was by chance alone that his eye lit on a new tin sign
tacked to the wall. He squinted at it incredulously. His mind
digested the information it contained while his jaws worked steadily.

The sign read:--

DESPACHO

DE

ROYAL BEAUDRY, LICENDIADO.

For those who preferred another language, a second announcement
appeared below the first:--

ROYAL BEAUDRY.

ATTORNEY AT LAW.

"Sure, and it must be the boy himself," said the little man aloud.

He opened the door and walked in.

A young man sat reading with his heels crossed on the top of a desk. A
large calf-bound volume was open before him, but the book in the hands
of the youth looked less formidable. It bore the title, "Adventures of
Sherlock Holmes." The budding lawyer flashed a startled glance at his
caller and slid Dr. Watson's hero into an open drawer.

The visitor grinned and remarked with a just perceptible Irish accent:
"'Tis a good book. I've read it myself."

The embryo Blackstone blushed. "Say, are you a client?" he asked.

"No-o."

"Gee! I was afraid you were my first. I like your looks. I'd hate
for you to have the bad luck to get me for your lawyer." He laughed,
boyishly. There was a very engaging quality about his candor.

The Irishman shot an abrupt question at him. "Are you John Beaudry's
son--him that was fighting sheriff of Washington County twent