dered arroyo--just then a
river of sand only--leading straight toward a group of buildings and an
oasis of greenery most welcome to the stranger's sun-blinded eyes.

"Sobrante ranch, that must be, and the home of my little ostrich rider.
I hope she'll be there to greet me, for a tempting spot it looks."

The nearer he approached the more charming it appeared, with its one
modern, vine-covered cottage, and its long stretches of low adobe
structures--enough to form a village in themselves--and as dingily
ancient as the other was freshly modern.

In reality, these old adobes were remnants of a long-abandoned mission,
but still in such excellent repair that they were utilized for the
ranchman's quarters and for the business of the great estate. Antonio
Bernal was the only one of all the employees who had his own rooms at
"the house," as the cottage was called where the Trents themselves
lived.

From the kitchen of this attractive "house" now floated a delectable
odor of well-cooked food, and with the reflection that he was always
hungry nowadays, the visitor crossed to its open window; there came,
also, a girlish voice, exclaiming:

"Yes, mother, I'm sure he was a gentleman, though he didn't look
well. I told him you weren't fond of strangers and had little time to
give them, but that I thought you'd make him welcome. Indeed, there's
nowhere else for him to go, since his horse is lame and we so far from
everybody. He lost his trail, he said. Was I right?"

Then his shadow fell across the sun-lighted floor and Jessica faced
about. With a whisk of the saucepan, in which she was scrambling eggs,
she added: "Well, right or wrong, here he is!" But she was talking to
empty air, for her mother had disappeared.

CHAPTER IV

AN INTERRUPTED SUPPER

The young ranchwoman placed her pan in safety and ran out upon that north
porch, where the table was already spread, to meet the visitor.

"Oh! I'm glad you've gotten here all safe. How did you do it? It's
a long walk for those who aren't used to it. Even for those who are,
too. Did you ride your horse? Was he better?"

She rattled off her questions without waiting for replies and to give
him time to recover his breath, which he seemed to have lost. Then she
poured him a glass of milk and urged him to drink it, with the remark:

"That's Blandina's own. She's the house-cow. You'll find it
delicious. Don't you?"

"It's fine milk," answered the other, cautiously; "but,