e
midst of the wilderness severely checked his accounts with nature.

Whether this strict economy of domestic outlay arose from an
ostentatious contempt of country life and the luxurious habits of the
former landholders, or whether it was a purely business principle of
Dr. West, did not appear. Those who knew him best declared that it was
both. Certain it was that unqualified commercial success crowned and
dignified his method. A few survivors of the old native families came
to see his strange machinery, that did the work of so many idle men and
horses. It is said that he offered to "run" the distant estate of
Joaquin Padilla from his little office amidst the grain of San Antonio.
Some shook their heads, and declared that he only sucked the juices of
the land for a few brief years to throw it away again; that in his
fierce haste he skimmed the fatness of ages of gentle cultivation on a
soil that had been barely tickled with native oaken plowshares.

His own personal tastes and habits were as severe and practical as his
business: the little wing he inhabited contained only his office, his
living room or library, his bedroom, and a bath-room. This last
inconsistent luxury was due to a certain cat-like cleanliness which was
part of his nature. His iron-gray hair--a novelty in this country of
young Americans--was always scrupulously brushed, and his linen
spotless. A slightly professional and somewhat old-fashioned
respectability in his black clothes was also characteristic. His one
concession to the customs of his neighbors was the possession of two or
three of the half-broken and spirited mustangs of the country, which he
rode with the fearlessness, if not the perfect security and ease, of a
native. Whether the subjection of this lawless and powerful survival
of a wild and unfettered nature around him was part of his plan, or
whether it was only a lingering trait of some younger prowess, no one
knew; but his grim and decorous figure, contrasting with the
picturesque and flowing freedom of the horse he bestrode, was a
frequent spectacle in road and field.

It was the second day after his visit to La Mision Perdida. He was
sitting by his desk, at sunset, in the faint afterglow of the western
sky, which flooded the floor through the open door. He was writing,
but presently lifted his head, with an impatient air, and called out,
"Harrison!"

The shadow of Dr. West's foreman appeared at the door.

"Who's that y