this peace--an Indian outbreak!"

A curious thrill ran through his veins, as if his sixty years had
suddenly turned backward to sixteen, and, with an answering cry, he
leaped through the open window and rushed straight into the arms of a man
who had already reached the porch and was making for the very room
that the stranger had just quitted.

CHAPTER V

COUNTER REVOLT

The collision staggered both men and gave Mrs. Trent time to reach the
side of her guest and to lay a restraining hand upon his arm. Her voice
was tremulous with laughter as she explained:

"It's only a rifle practice. The ranchmen and the children--all
children in this sport--and always noisy. I'm sorry it disturbed
you, but--Indians! How could you imagine it. Ah! Antonio, good-evening.
Have you had supper?"

"No, senora. I need it."

"It is waiting. This visitor, Mr. Hale, Senor Antonio Bernal, the
manager of Sobrante."

The gentlemen bowed, one with the brevity of a busy man, the other with
the profound salutation of his race. But they parted immediately, for
the Easterner was anxious to witness the shooting and the superintendent
to break his long fast; and with disgust at his own readiness to fancy
danger where none existed, Mr. Hale followed the sound of the yells and
cheers.

"Hi! hi! for the little one! Hit him again, blue jacket!" shrieked
Samson, as, steadying upon a tie-post the rifle he was too small to
support, Ned sighted the bull's-eye of a distant target, took a careless
aim, yet struck it squarely.

Whereupon the strong ex-sailor thrust the weapon aside and tossed the
lad in the air as if he had been a ball. Yet caught him as he lightly
descended, and placed him astride his own shoulders.

"Who'll beat the little master? Three times out o' seven, with an iron
heavy as that, how's the showing for an eight-year-old?"

But Ned slipped from the ranchman's back, picked up his own tiny,
perfectly finished gun, and swung it over his head.

"Huh! That's nothing! Huh! This the feller! Huh! Guess 'tis. Shot
more'n forty-'leven quails this day 't ever was. Had 'em for my
supper. Had 'em for the man broke his horse's leg and stole Scruff.
Hello, Mister! Had your supper? Wasn't them good birds? I shot 'em
for you. I did."

"You?" demanded the gentleman, astonished. He had now joined the group
surrounding the three children, and his presence caused a lull in the
uproar which had preceded his arrival. "You! Why you aren't bi