uffering for them, but was now so filled with joy.

"Mrs. Quinn sent over the cake," Lucia announced, as the table-boy brought
in a huge dish, on which was a chocolate cake of magnificent proportions.
It looked--and was--as light as a feather; a work of art to be proud of.

"Just like her, eh?" said "Red." "What would we do without Mrs. Quinn, the
queen of 'em all!"

"That's what I say," Uncle Henry declared. He could hardly wait to get to
the cake, for he knew what toothsome dainties the Irishwoman could cause to
emerge from her oven; and often she sent him this or that sweet, "just to
let 'im know she was livin' an' breathin'."

Suddenly there came a sound of hoof beats on the road; and through the open
door, outlined against the flaming sunset, Gilbert could see two horsemen
approaching, with pointed hats, and glistening buttons.

"Mexicans!" he cried. "What can they be doing here, now?" His mind rushed
back to that terrible evening so long ago when Lopez had ridden up to the
adobe, and changed the world for them all in almost the twinkling of an
eye.

He got up from the table now, and "Red" followed him. Dusk was just
descending, but Gilbert's sharp eyes recognized the first horseman even in
the dimming light.

"It's Pancho Lopez!" he cried.

And sure enough, on a steed that looked like Sunday afternoon, with
brand-new reins and bit, and in a suit that fit him to perfection, with
gleaming spurs and shining buttons, the rakish and indomitable Pancho, his
long-lost friend, returned to greet him. He could scarcely believe it. For
since that memorable night when he had left them, to return to the interior
of Mexico, never a word had he had from him. Meantime, the great happiness
had come to him; and when the baby came into the world, he and Lucia had
not forgotten the man who had been responsible for their joy. With one
accord they named the boy Pancho. There was not the slightest doubt but
that should be what he should be called. The only tragedy was that they had
no way of letting the bandit know what they had done. Where was he? They
did not know. When, if ever, would he return? They had no way of finding
out. There was but one thing to do--wait. And they did. But often Gilbert
had said to Lucia, "He has forgotten us, though we have never forgotten
him--our friend."

Now, in the quiet, brooding autumn dusk he came to their doorstep,
dismounted, lifted his hat, smiled that wonderful smile of his, and made a