ion, and her heart swelled
with pride. Ah, yes; it was good to have the child back on the rancho
again.

Carolina and Pablo had never heard that the ravens fed Elijah; they had
never heard of Elijah. Nevertheless, if they had, they would not have
envied him the friendship of those divinely directed birds, for the
Farrels had always fed Pablo and Carolina and their numerous brood, now
raised and scattered over the countryside. At sight of that prod in
the ribs, Carolina dismissed forever a worry that had troubled her
vaguely during the period between old Don Miguel's death and the return
of young Don Miguel--the fear that a lifetime of ease and plenty had
ended. Presently, she lifted a falsetto voice in a Spanish love-song
two centuries old.

I await the morrow, Nina mia,
I await the morrow, all through the night,
For the entrancing music and dancing
With thee, my song-bird, my heart's delight.
Come dance, my Nina, in thy mantilla,
Think of our love and do not say no;
Hasten then my treasure, grant me this pleasure,
Dance then tomorrow the bolero!

Over at the corral, Pablo rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and permitted
a thin film of smoke to trickle through his nostrils. He, too, was
content.

"Carolina," he remarked presently, in English, "is happy to beat hell."

"I haven't any right to be, but, for some unknown reason, I'm feeling
gay myself," his master replied.

He started toward the harness-room to get the saddle for Panchito, and
Pablo lingered a moment at the fence, gazing after him curiously.
Could it be possible that Don Miguel Jose Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel
had, while sojourning in the cold land of the bewhiskered men, lost a
modicum of that particularity with women which had formerly
distinguished him in the eyes of his humble retainers?

"Damn my soul eef I don't know sometheeng!" Pablo muttered, and
followed for a saddle for the gray gelding.

XIX

When the Parkers emerged from the hacienda, they found Don Mike and Pablo
holding the horses and waiting for them. Kay wore a beautifully tailored
riding-habit of dark unfinished material, shot with a faint admixture of
gray; her boots were of shining black undressed leather, and she wore a
pair of little silver-mounted spurs, the sight of which caused Pablo to
exchange sage winks with his master. Her white-pique stock was fastened
by an exquisite little cameo stick-pin; from under the brim of a
black-beav