ew one sleep--and there is no place to make a noise."

"Oh," commented Rhodes, "well, let the black have a little water, and
lead him out of the way of mine. This gully isn't wide enough to turn
around in."

Obediently the boy led the black to the sunken barrel catching seepage
from the barrel under the drip. Rhodes tossed the sack back to the
flat rock and noted an old canvas water bottle beside the heap, it was
half full of something--not water, for it was uncorked and the mouth
of it a-glitter with shimmering particles like diamond dust, and the
same powder was over a white spot on the rock--the lad evidently was
playing miller and pounding broken glass into a semblance of meal.

"Funny stunt, that!" he pondered, and, smiling, watched the frightened
boy. "Herrara certainly is doing a bit of collecting _vino_ to have a
stock of bottles that size, and the poor kid's nothing else to play
with."

He mounted and rode on, leaving Narcisco to lead the black to his
mistress. He could not get out of his mind the fright in the eyes of
the boy. Was Herrara a brute to his family, and had Narcisco taken to
flight to hide his simple playthings under the mistaken idea that the
horseman was his father returned early from the ranges?

That was the only solution Rhodes could find to the problem, though he
milled it around in his mind quite a bit. Unless the boy was curiously
weak-minded and frightened at the face of a stranger it was the only
explanation he could find, yet the boys of Herrara had always struck
him as rather bright. In fact Conrad had promoted Juanito to the
position of special messenger; he could ride like the wind and never
forget a word.

The shadows lengthened as he circled the little canon of the Ojo Verde
and noted the water dripping from the full tanks, ideal for the colt
range for three months. He took note that Herrara was not neglecting
anything, despite that collection of bottles. There was no wastage and
the pipes connecting the tanks were in good condition.

He rode back, care free and content, through the fragrant valley. The
cool air was following the lowering sun, and a thin mauve veil was
drifting along the hills of mystery in the south; he sang as he rode
and then checked the song to listen to the flutelike call of a lark.
His lips curved in a smile as he heard it, and with it came the
thought of the girl and the barred window of Vijil's adobe.

She permeated the life of Granados just as the