so we are
not waiting for them.'

The 'boys' were, supposedly, the men he had working for him; there must
be close to a score of them. And they all ate at one table, master and
men and guests when he had them.

'Who is El Joven?' asked Helen.

Howard looked puzzled; then his face cleared.

'Angela told you El Joven was here, too?' And to Carr: 'He came with
you, John?'

Carr nodded. Howard then answered Helen.

'That's Angela's pet name for him; it means The Youngster. It is
Barbee, Yellow Barbee the boys call him. He's one of John's men. They
say he's a regular devil-of-a-fellow with the ladies, Miss Helen. Look
out he doesn't break your heart.'

Angela peered in from the kitchen and withdrew. They heard her
guttural utterance, and thereafter a young Indian boy, black of eyes,
slick of plastered hair and snow-white of apron, came in bringing the
soup. Howard nodded at him, saying a pleasant '_Que hay, Juanito_?'
The boy uncovered the rare whiteness of his splendid teeth in a quick
smile. He began placing the soup. Helen looked at him; he blushed and
withdrew hastily to the kitchen.

Throughout the meal the four talked unconstrainedly; it was as though
they had known one another for a dozen years and intimately.
Longstreet, having pushed aside his soup plate, engaged his host in an
ardent discussion of the undeveloped possibilities of the Last Ridge
country; true, he had never set foot upon it, but he knew the last word
of this land's formation and geological construction, its life history
as it were. All of his life, he admitted freely, he had been a man of
scholarship and theory; the simplest thing imaginable, he held blandly,
was the demonstration of the correctness of his theories. Meantime
Helen talked brightly with John Carr and listened to Carr's voice.

And a voice well worth listening to it was. Its depth was at once
remarkable and pleasing. At first one hearkened to the music of the
rich tone itself rather than to the man's words, just as one may thrill
to the profound cadences of a deep voice singing without heeding the
words of the song. But presently she found herself giving her rapt
attention to Carr's remarks. Here again was one of her own class, a
man of quiet assurance and culture and distinction; he knew Boston and
he knew the desert. For the first time since her father had dragged
her across the continent on his hopelessly mad escapade, Helen felt
that after all the East