"What do you mean by camping out here, Don Nicolas?" Farrel demanded as
he rode up. "Since when has it become the fashion to await a formal
invitation to the hospitality of the Rancho Palomar?"
"I started to ride down to the hacienda at sunset last night," Don
Nicolas replied, "but a man on foot and carrying a rifle and a blanket
came over the hills to the south. I watched him through my binoculars.
He came down into the wash of the San Gregorio--and I did not see him
come out. So I knew he was camped for the night in the willow thickets
of the river bed; that he was a stranger in the country, else he would
have gone up to your hacienda for the night; that his visit spelled
danger to you, else why did he carry a rifle?
"I went supperless, watching from the hillside to see if this stranger
would light a fire in the valley."
"He did not?" Farrel queried.
"Had he made a camp-fire, my boy, I would have accorded myself the
pleasure of an informal visit, incidentally ascertaining who he was and
what he wanted. I am very suspicious of strangers who make cold camps
in the San Gregorio. At daylight this morning I rode down the wash and
searched for his camp. I found where he had slept in the grass--also
this," and he drew from his pocket a single rifle cartridge.
"Thirty-two-forty caliber, Miguel," he continued, "with a soft-nose
bullet. I do not know of one in this county who shoots such a heavy
rifle.
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