isted painfully. "No," she said, "but--"

Lola turned away. Every line of her figure was eloquent of grievance.
She walked off without a glance to apprise her of the anguish in Jane's
face. Slowly Jane went toward the house; whereupon Alejandro Vigil, who
had continued an interested spectator, followed Lola to the ditch.

"If thou hadst wept, she would have given thee the letter," he
suggested. "My mother, she always gives up to us when we weep loudly. A
still baby gets no milk," said Alejandro, wisely, as he hugged his
bare knees.

"I am no baby!" retorted Lola. Nevertheless her voice was husky, and
Alejandro watched her anxiously.

"It's no good to cry now," he advised her. "She's gone into the house."

"_Tonto!_ Do you think I want her to see me?" wept Lola. "She is hard
and cruel. O my father!"

"Come over and tell my mother about it!" urged the boy, troubled. "You
are Mexican like us, no? Your mother was Mexican? Come! My mother will
say what is best to do."

Lola listened. She let herself be dragged up. An adviser might speak
some word of wisdom. "Come, then," she agreed.

But Senora Vigil, on hearing the story, only groaned and sighed.

"These Americans have the heart of ice!" she said. "Doubtless there was
money in the letter and she did not want you to know. Serafita, leave
thy sister alone, or I will beat thee! It will be best, Lolita, to say
little. A close mouth catches no flies."

"I may not stay here with you?" asked Lola.

"Alas, no, little pigeon!" mourned the senora. "In the cage where thy
father has put thee thou must stay! But come and tell me everything.
This shall be thy house when thou art in trouble!" and thus defining
the limits of her hospitality, she made a gesture toward the mud walls
on which strings of goat meat were drying in a sanguinary fringe.

Autumn fell bright on the foot-hills. The plains blazed with yellow
flowers which seemed to run in streams of molten gold from every canyon,
and linger in great pools on the flats and line all the ditches. Ricks
of green and silver rose all along the Apishapa. Alfalfa was purple to
the last crop, and an air of affluence pervaded everything.

The town was thronged with ranchers, coming in to trade; the mine had
started up for the winter. Men who had prospected for precious metals
all summer in the mountains now bundled their pots and pans and
blankets back to shelter for the winter; the long-eared burros, lost in
great rolls of beddi