Her first port of
call was the kitchen.
"Nishi," she informed the cook, "a gentleman will arrive shortly after
the family has finished dinner. Keep his dinner in the oven. Murray
will serve it to him in his room, I think."
She passed out through the kitchen, and found herself in the rear of
the hacienda. A hundred yards distant, she saw Pablo Artelan squatting
on his heels beside the portal of his humble residence, his back
against the wall. She crossed over to him, smiling as she came.
"How do you do, Pablo?" she said. "Have you forgotten me? I'm the
girl to whom you were kind enough to give a ride on Panchito one day in
El Toro."
The glowering glance of suspicion and resentment faded slowly from old
Pablo's swarthy countenance. He scrambled to his feet and swept the
ground with his old straw sombrero,
"I am at the service of the _senorita_," he replied, gravely.
"Thank you, Pablo. I just wanted to tell you that you need not carry
that rifle any more. I shall see to it that you are not removed from
the ranch."
He stared at her with stolid interest.
"_Muchas gracias, senorita_," he mumbled. Then, remembering she did
not understand Spanish, he resumed in English: "I am an old man, mees.
Since my two boss he's die, pretty soon Pablo die, too. For what use
eet is for live now I don' tell you. Those ol' man who speak me leave
theese rancho--he is your father, no?"
"Yes, Pablo.
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