verse from the Bible that he had learned at his mother's knee many
years before:

"Crying, Peace, Peace, when there is no peace."

But he put it aside lightly, as a man should, for if one followed
every vagrant fancy and intuition, taking account of signs and omens,
he would slue and waver in his course like a toy boat in a mill pond,
which after great labor and adventure comes, in the end, to nothing.

CHAPTER IV

DON PABLO MORENO

On the edge of the barren mesa and looking out over the sandy flats
where the Salagua writhed about uneasily in its bed, the _casa_ of Don
Pablo Moreno stood like a mud fort, barricaded by a palisade of the
thorny cactus which the Mexicans call _ocotilla_. Within this fence,
which inclosed several acres of standing grain and the miniature of a
garden, there were all the signs of prosperity--a new wagon under its
proper shade, a storehouse strongly built where chickens lingered
about for grain, a clean-swept _ramada_ casting a deep shadow across
the open doorway; but outside the inclosure the ground was stamped as
level as a threshing floor. As Creede and Hardy drew near, an old man,
grave and dignified, came out from the shady veranda and opened the
gate, bowing with the most courtly hospitality.

"_Buenos tardes, senores_," he pronounced, touching his hat in a
military salute. "_Pasa!_ Welcome to my poor house."

In response to these salutations Creede made the conventional
replies, and then as the old man stood expectant he said in a hurried
aside to Hardy:

"D'ye talk Spanish? He don't understand a word of English."

"Sure," returned Hardy. "I was brought up on it!"

"No!" exclaimed Creede incredulously, and then, addressing the Senor
Moreno in his native tongue, he said: "Don Pablo, this is my friend
Senor Hardy, who will live with me at Agua Escondida!"

"With great pleasure, senor," said the old gentleman, removing his
hat, "I make your acquaintance!"

"The pleasure is mine," replied Hardy, returning the salutation, and
at the sound of his own language Don Pablo burst into renewed
protestations of delight. Within the cool shadow of his _ramada_ he
offered his own chair and seated himself in another, neatly fashioned
of mesquite wood and strung with thongs of rawhide. Then, turning his
venerable head to the doorway which led to the inner court, he shouted
in a terrible voice:

"_Muchacho_!"

Instantly from behind the adobe wall, around the corner of which he
h