re still traces of the adobe stockade behind it, with
walls ten feet high, and the building which had housed the _peones_ was
still standing, now filled with fragrant hay. In front of it stood an old
cedar post with rusty iron rings to which the recalcitrant field hands had
been bound for beating.

Every detail of this home of his forefathers stirred his emotions. The
ancient cottonwood trees in front of the house with their deep, welcome
shade and the soft voices of courting doves among the leaves; the alfalfa
fields heavy with purple blossom, ripe for cutting; the orchard of old
apple trees and thickets of Indian plum run wild; the neglected vineyard
that could be made to yield several barrels of red wine--all of these
things spoke to him with subtle voices. To trade his heritage for this was
to trade hope and hazard for monotonous ease; but with the smell of the
yielding earth in his nostrils, he no more thought of this than a man in
love thinks of the long restraints and irks of marriage when the kiss of
his woman is on his lips.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Ramon's life on his farm quickly fell into a routine that was for the most
part pleasant. He hired an old woman to do his cooking and washing, and a
man to work on the place. Other men he hired as he needed them, and he
spent most of his days working with them as a foreman.

He attended to the business of farming ably. The trees of the old orchard
he pruned and sprayed and he set out new ones. He put his idle land under
irrigation and planted it in corn and alfalfa. He set out beds of
strawberries and asparagus. He bought blooded livestock and chickens. He
put his fences in repair and painted the woodwork of his house. The
creative energy that was in him had at last found an outlet which was
congenial though somewhat picayune. For the place was small and easily
handled. As the fall came on, and his crops had been gathered and the work
of irrigation was over for the season, he found himself looking about
restlessly for something to do. On Saturday nights he generally went to
town, had dinner with his mother and sister, and spent the evening
drinking beer and playing pool. But he felt increasingly out of place in
the town; his visits there were prompted more by filial duty and the need
of something to break the monotony of his week than by a real sense of
pleasure in them.

He was still caring for Catalina on the ranch up the valley,