edicted by some that the
leading development would be an ultimate transfer of title to Mr.
MacDougall, who was known to be lending the Don money and taking land as
security.

Don Felipe's career was far less spectacular than that of his brother. He
owned more than Don Diego to start with, and he spent his life slowly
losing it, so that when he died he left nothing but a house in Old Town
and a single small sheep ranch, which afforded his widow, two daughters
and one son a scant living.

This son, Ramon Delcasar, was the hope of the family. He would inherit the
estate of Don Diego, if the old Don died before spending it all, which it
did not seem likely that he would do. But Ramon early demonstrated that he
had a more important heritage in the sharp intelligence, and the proud,
plucky and truculent spirit which had characterized the best of the
Delcasars throughout the family history.

As there was no considerable family estate for him to settle upon, he was
sent to law school at the age of twenty, and returned three years later to
take up the practice of his profession in his native town. Thus he was the
first of the Delcasars to face life with his bare hands. And he was also
the last of them in a sense, to face the gringos. All the others of his
name, save the senile Don, had either died, departed or sunk from sight
into the mass of the peasantry.

CHAPTER III

The year that Ramon returned to his native town the annual fair, which
took place at the fair-grounds in Old Town, was an especially gorgeous and
throngful event, rich in spectacle and incident. A steer was roped and
hog-tied in record time by Clay MacGarnigal of Lincoln County. A
seven-mile relay race was won by a buck named Slonny Begay. In the bronco
busting contest two men were injured to the huge enjoyment of the crowd.
The twenty-seventh cavalry from Fort Bliss performed a sham battle. The
home team beat several other teams. Enormous apples raised by irrigation
in the Pecos Valley attracted much attention, and a hungry Mexican
absconded with a prize Buff Orpington rooster.

Twice a day the single narrow street which connected the neat brick and
frame respectability of New Town with the picturesque _adobe_ squalor of
Old Town was filled by a curiously varied crowd. The tourist from the
East, distinguished by his camera and his unnecessary umbrella, jostled
the Pueblo squaw from Isleta, with her latest-born slun