rown, the crops prospered, all sorrow passed them by, through the
intercession of the blessed saints.

The year's trophies were brought. He fingered with simple pride the
great pelt of the silver-tip. Antlers there were and lion-skins,
gleaming prisms of quartz, flint arrowheads and agates brought in by the
shepherds, the costly Navajo blanket won by the fleet-limbed dun at
Canada races.

Hither came presently another visitor--Florentino, breaker of wild
horses, despite his fifty years; wizened and withered and small, merry
and cheerful, singer of forgotten folk-songs; chanting, even as he came,
the song of Macario Romero--Macario, riding joyous and light-hearted,
spite of warning, omen and sign, love-lured to doom and death.

"'Concedame una licencia
Voy a ir a ver a me Chata.'

"Dice Macario Romero,
Parando en los estribos:
'Madre, pues, esto voy a ver,
Si todos son mis amigos!'"

And so, listening, weary and outworn, Jeff fell asleep.

* * * * *

Observe now, how Nature insists upon averages. Mr. Jeff Bransford was,
as has been seen, an energetic man; but outraged nerves will have their
revenge. After making proper amends to his damaged eye, Jeff's remnant
of energy kept up long enough to dispatch young Tomas Escobar y Mendoza
to El Paso with a message to Hibler: which message enjoined Hibler at
once to carry tidings to John Wesley Pringle, somewhere in Chihuahua,
asking him kindly to set right what Arcadian times were out of joint, as
he, Jeff, felt the climate of Old Mexico more favorable for his throat
trouble than that of New Mexico; with a postscript asking Hibler for
money by bearer. And young Tomas was instructed to buy, at Juarez, a
complete outfit of clothing for Jeff, including a gun.

This done, the reaction set in--aided, perhaps, by the enervating
lassitude of the hot baths and the sleepy atmosphere of that forgotten
village. Jeff spent the better part of a week asleep, or half awake at
best. He had pleasant dreams, too. One--perhaps the best dream of
all--was that on their wedding trip they should follow again the devious
line of his flight from Arcadia. That would need a prairie schooner--no,
a prairie steamboat--a prairie yacht! He would tell her all the hideous
details--show her the mine, the camp of the besiegers, the ambuscade on
the road. And if he could have Ellinor meet Griffith and Gibson for a
crowning touch!

Afte