dow lark. It was so sweet it might
have been mate to any he had heard on the range that morning.

Only an instant he hesitated, then with equal care he gave the
duplicate call, and held his breath to listen--not a sound came back.

"We've gone loco, Pardner," he observed to the smutty-faced roan
moving near him. "That jolt from the bay outlaw this morning has
jingled my brain pans--we don't hear birds call us--we only think we
do."

If he had even looked at Pardner he might have been given a sign, for
the roan had lifted its head and was staring into the shadows back of
the sweating olla.

"Hi, you caballero!"

The words were too clear to be mistaken, the "caballero" stared across
to the only people in sight. There was Pedro Vijil sharpening an axe,
while Merced, his wife, turned the creaking grindstone for him. The
young olive branches of the Vijil family were having fun with a horned
toad under the _ramada_ where gourd vines twisted about an ancient
grape, and red peppers hung in a gorgeous splash of color. Between
that and the blue haze of the far mountains there was no sign of
humanity to account for such cheery youthful Americanism as the tone
suggested.

"Hi, yourself!" he retorted, "whose ghost are you?"

There was a giggle from the barred window of the adobe.

"I don't dare say because I am not respectable just now," replied the
voice. "I fell in the ditch and have nothing on but the Sunday shirt
of Pedro. I am the funniest looking thing! wish I dared ride home in
it to shock them all silly."

"Why not?" he asked, and again the girlish laugh gave him an odd
thrill of comradeship.

"A good enough reason; they'd take Pat from me, and say he wasn't safe
to ride--but he is! My tumble was my own fault for letting them put on
that fool English saddle. Never again for me!"

"They are all right for old folks and a pacing pony," he observed, and
again he heard the bubbling laugh.

"Well, Pat is not a pacing pony, not by a long shot; and I'm not
old folks--yet!" Then after a little silence, "Haven't you any
curiosity?"

"I reckon there's none allowed me on this count," he replied without
lifting his head, "between the wooden bars and Pedro's shirt you
certainly put the fences up on me."

"I'm a damsel in distress waiting for a rescuing knight with a white
banner and a milk-white steed--" went on the laughing voice in stilted
declamation.

"Sorry, friend, but my cayuse is a roan, and I never carried a