und to the rear of Pablo's
"calaboose," and went to work noiselessly on the small iron-grilled
window of the settlement-room.

The bars were an inch in diameter and too thick to be cut with the
bolt-clippers, but Okada did not despair. With the tool he grasped the
adobe window-ledge and bit deeply into it. Piece after piece of the
ancient adobe came away, until presently the bases of the iron bars lay
exposed; whereupon Okada seized them, one by one, in his hands and bent
them upward and outward, backward and forward, until he was enabled to
remove them altogether. Then he stole quietly back to the blacksmith
shop, restored the bolt-clippers, went to the Basque's automobile, and
waited.

Presently, Loustalot appeared warily round the corner. A glance at his
automobile showed that the flat tire had been shifted; whereupon he
nodded his thanks to the Japanese, who stared impassively while the
Basque climbed into his car, threw out his low gear, let go his brakes,
and coasted silently out of the yard and into the avenue. The hacienda
screened him from Pablo's view as the latter, all unconscious of what
was happening, dozed before the door of the empty settlement-room.
Once over the lip of the mesa, Loustalot started his car and sped down
the San Gregorio as fast as he dared drive.

XIV

Following his illuminating interview with Pablo and Loustalot, John
Parker returned to a chair on the porch patio, lighted a fresh cigar,
and gave himself up to contemplating the tangle in his hitherto
well-laid plans. An orderly and methodical man always, it annoyed him
greatly to discover this morning that a diabolical circumstance over
which he had no control and which he had not remotely taken into
consideration should have arisen to embarrass and distress him and,
perchance, plunge him into litigation. Mrs. Parker, having possessed
herself of some fancy work, took a seat beside him, and, for the space
of several minutes, stitched on, her thoughts, like her husband's,
evidently bent upon the affairs of Miguel Farrel.

"Who is this gory creature Pablo just brought in?" she demanded,
finally.

"His name is Andre Loustalot, Kate, and he is a sheep-man from the San
Carpojo country--a Basque, I believe. He hasn't a particularly good
reputation in San Marcos County, but he's one of the biggest sheepmen
in the state and a heavy depositor in the bank at El Toro. He was one
of the reasons that moved me to buy the Farrel mo