ant in a
hollow of the Contra Costa Range. I recalled, in the midst of this noisy
picnic, the slumberous coolness of its long corridors and soundless
courtyard, and hailed it as a relief. The telegram was a sufficient
excuse for my abrupt departure. In the morning I left, but without again
seeing either Mrs. Saltillo or the professor.

It was late the next afternoon when I rode through the canada that led
to the rancho. I confess my thoughts were somewhat gloomy, in spite of
my escape from the noisy hotel; but this was due to the sombre scenery
through which I had just ridden, and the monotonous russet of the
leagues of wild oats. As I approached the rancho, I saw that Enriquez
had made no attempt to modernize the old casa, and that even the garden
was left in its lawless native luxuriance, while the rude tiled sheds
near the walled corral contained the old farming implements, unchanged
for a century, even to the ox-carts, the wheels of which were made of a
single block of wood. A few peons, in striped shirts and velvet
jackets, were sunning themselves against a wall, and near them hung
a half-drained pellejo, or goatskin water-bag. The air of absolute
shiftlessness must have been repellent to Mrs. Saltillo's orderly
precision, and for a moment I pitied her. But it was equally
inconsistent with Enriquez's enthusiastic ideas of American progress,
and the extravagant designs he had often imparted to me of the
improvements he would make when he had a fortune. I was feeling uneasy
again, when I suddenly heard the rapid clack of unshod hoofs on a rocky
trail that joined my own. At the same instant a horseman dashed past me
at full speed. I had barely time to swerve my own horse aside to avoid a
collision, yet in that brief moment I recognized the figure of Enriquez.
But his face I should have scarcely known. It was hard and fixed. His
upper lip and thin, penciled mustache were drawn up over his teeth,
which were like a white gash in his dark face. He turned into the
courtyard of the rancho. I put spurs to my horse, and followed, in
nervous expectation. He turned in his saddle as I entered. But the next
moment he bounded from his horse, and, before I could dismount, flew to
my side and absolutely lifted me from the saddle to embrace me. It was
the old Enriquez again; his face seemed to have utterly changed in that
brief moment.

"This is all very well, old chap," I said; "but do you know that you
nearly ran me down, just no