they was
raisin-grapes, an' they wasn't--an' you knowed he was a temp'rance man,
a prohibitionist. An' him tryin' to grub 'em out, an' gettin' sick--an'
bein' so patient, an' never hurtin' nobody--" she ended in a wild,
angry sob that seemed to swallow up her voice.

"Miss Starkweather," said the young fellow steadily, "I certainly did
sell this place to your father, and if I told him anything about the
vineyard I most certainly told him they were raisin-grapes; and upon my
soul I thought they _were_. Aren't they?"

"No," sobbed Idy, "they ain't; they're wine-grapes! He was grubbin' 'em
out to-day. That's what hurt 'im--I'm afraid he'll die!"

"You mustn't be afraid of that. Dr. Patterson says he will get better.
But we must see that he doesn't do any more grubbing. When Slater gave
me this for sale," he went on, as if he were reflecting aloud, "he said
there were ten acres of vineyard. I can't swear that he told me what the
vines were, or that I asked him. But it never occurred to me that any
man--even an Englishman--would plant ten acres of wine-grapes when there
wasn't a winery within fifty miles of him."

VI.

Parker Lowe borrowed one of Mose Doolittle's mules Monday evening, and
rode from Temecula to Jake Levison's saloon at Maravilla. It was
understood when he left the thresher's camp that he would probably "make
a night of it," and Mose gave him a word of friendly warning and advice.

"You want to remember, Park, that the old man is down on the flowing
bowl; an' from what I've heard of the family I think it'll pay you to
keep yourself solid with the old man."

"I'm a-goin' up to the drug-store to get some liniment for Dave
Montgomery's lame shoulder," returned Parker, with a knowing wink at
his companion, as he flung himself into the saddle; "but I hain't signed
no pledge yet--not by a jugful," he called back, as the mule jolted
lazily down the road.

It was a warm night, and half a dozen loafers were seated on empty
beer-kegs in front of Levison's door when Parker rode up. Levison got
up, and began to disengage himself from the blacksmith's story as he saw
the newcomer dismount; but the blacksmith raised his voice insistently.

"'There don't no dude tell me how to pare a hoof,' says I; 'I'll do it
my way, or I don't do it;' an' I done it, an' him kickin' like a steer
all the time"--

"Who?" asked one of the other men.

"Barden."

"What was he doin' down here?"

"He came down for Doc Patterson