ooking past her toward the carpenter, who, with another
change of mood, sprang again to his feet and waved the fragment of
mineral overhead, exclaiming:

"This is 'up'! Copper's 'up'! Sobrante's 'up'! And lucky the men that
belong to it. Only--that old villain, yonder, has known it even since
forever, and was mean enough to keep his secret. That's what he is,
that Pedro, yonder!"

Yet, with another whimsical change, he seized the shepherd's hand and
wrung it till even that hardened member ached. But the Indian remained
as calm and undisturbed, amid the torrent of blame or praise, as if he
had been sitting alone at his weaving on the mesa. His soul was
satisfied at last. He had done that which he had pondered doing for
many years, without being able, heretofore, to bring his thought to
action. Surely he had known that, locked within his own breast, his
"secret" was worthless; yet he had clung to it tenaciously. Now he had
imparted it to others, and behold! all the world knew it, even so
soon. Well, that did not matter. It was no longer his. His part was
ended. Meanwhile, on his beloved upland, there was a faithful collie
watching for his return, and lambs bleating, needing his care.
Suddenly he rose, placed his cherished staff in Mrs. Trent's hands,
and bowing low, said:

"Keep this, as I have kept it, where none but you may find. At the
Navidad I come once more, the last. Adios."

His departure was so unexpected that, at first, they did not try to
prevent it, but Jessica was swift to follow and protest:

"Not to-night, dear Pedro! Please not to-night. You have been so good
to me, you must stay and be glad with us this one night. In the
morning----"

"In the morning the sheep will need new pasture. Adios, nina."

"Then, if go you must, it shall not be on foot. Wait! I know! Prince,
Mr. Hale's horse, that he left with you on the mesa. It is here. The
naughty children painted him, but I saw him in the corral, just now,
and you shall ride him home. That is if you will not stay, even for
me."

"The Navidad. Till then, adios."

She had never heard him talk so much nor so well as since these few
hours among his friends. He seemed to be almost another Pedro than the
silent shepherd of the mesa, and as she followed him, taking his
direct way to the paddock, she wondered at the uprightness of his
bearing and the unconscious dignity which clothed him like a garment.
Then she remembered something else--his blanket, and