ndexter to redeem the
land and deepen the water at the embarcadero, as it would have drained
the lagoon, and the lawyer had postponed the improvement to gratify
her fancy. So she kept it through the long summer unchanged save by the
shadows of passing wings or the lazy files of sleeping sea-fowl.

On one of these afternoons she noticed a slowly moving carriage leave
the high road and cross the almarjal skirting the edge of the lagoon. If
it contained visitors for Los Cuervos they had evidently taken a shorter
cut without waiting to go on to the regular road which intersected the
highway at right angles a mile farther on. It was with some sense of
annoyance and irritation that she watched the trespass, and finally saw
the vehicle approach the house. A few moments later the servant informed
her that Mr. Patterson would like to see her alone. When she entered the
corridor, which in the dry season served as a reception hall, she
was surprised to see that Patterson was not alone. Near him stood
a well-dressed handsome woman, gazing about her with good-humored
admiration of Mrs. Tucker's taste and ingenuity.

"It don't look much like it did two years ago," said the stranger
cheerfully. "You've improved it wonderfully."

Stiffening slightly, Mrs. Tucker turned inquiringly to Mr. Patterson.
But that gentleman's usual profound melancholy appeared to be
intensified by the hilarity of his companion. He only sighed deeply and
rubbed his leg with the brim of his hat in gloomy abstraction.

"Well! go on, then," said the woman, laughing and nudging him. "Go
on--introduce me--can't you? Don't stand there like a tombstone. You
won't? Well, I'll introduce myself." She laughed again, and then, with
an excellent imitation of Patterson's lugubrious accents, said, "Mr.
Spencer Tucker's wife that IS, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Spencer
Tucker's sweetheart that WAS! Hold on! I said THAT WAS. For true as
I stand here, ma'am--and I reckon I wouldn't stand here if it wasn't
true--I haven't set eyes on him since the day he left you."

"It's the Gospel truth, every word," said Patterson, stirred into a
sudden activity by Mrs. Tucker's white and rigid face. "It's the frozen
truth, and I kin prove it. For I kin swear that when that there young
woman was sailin' outer the Golden Gate, Spencer Tucker was in my bar
room; I kin swear that I fed him, lickered him, give him a hoss and set
him in his road to Monterey that very night."

"Then, whe