owns, all this has been somewhat changed, as the customs of any
country suffer change in towns. But old Archulera, living in his lonely
canyon, proud of his high lineage, would be the hardest of men to appease.
And meantime, what was to be done with the girl?

It was this problem which brought his wits back to him. A plan began to
form in his mind. He saw that in sending her to him Archulera had really
played into his hands. The important thing now was to keep her away from
her father. He looked at her again, and the pity which he always felt for
weaklings welled up in him. He knew many Mexican ranches in the valley
where he could keep her in comfort for a small amount. That would serve a
double purpose. The old man would be kept in ignorance as to what Ramon
intended, and the girl would be saved from further punishment. Meantime,
he could send Cortez to see Archulera and find out what money would do.

The whole affair was big with potential damage to him. Some of his enemies
might find out about it and make a scandal. Archulera might come around in
an ugly mood and make trouble. The girl might run away and come to town
again. And yet, now that he had a plan, he was all confidence.

Cortez kept Catalina at his house while Ramon drove forty miles up the
valley and made arrangements with a Mexican who lived in an isolated
place, to care for her for an indefinite period. When he took Catalina
there, he told her on the way simply that she was to wait until he came
for her, and above all, that she must not try to communicate with her
father. The girl nodded, looking at him gravely with her large soft eyes.
Her lot had always been to obey, to bear burdens and to suffer. The stuff
of rebellion and of self-assertion was not in her, but she could endure
misfortune with the stoical indifference of a savage. Indeed, she was in
all essentials simply a squaw. During the ride to her new home she seemed
more interested in the novel sensation of travelling at thirty miles an
hour than in her own future. She clung to the side of the car with both
hands, and her face reflected a pathetic mingling of fear and delight.

The house of Nestor Gomez to which Ramon took her was prettily set in a
grove of cottonwoods, with white hollyhocks blooming on either side of the
door, and strings of red chile hanging from the rafter-ends to dry. Half a
dozen small children played about the door, the younger ones naked and all
of them deep in dirt. A hen