th the
injunction:

"Don't scare the 'captain' when you find her, but just let her know
her mother needs her, and her dinner's drying up in the oven. Now
scatter; and don't you show a face back here without her in hand!"

"Can't all of us find her, herder. Ain't 'captains' enough to go
'round," said a cowboy, with an ill-attempt at playfulness, which was
instantly frowned down. For, though all assured themselves that there
was no substantial cause for alarm, and that women were "nervous
cattle, always scared at shadders," they had already caught something
of this nervousness. Each felt that the best sight for his eyes at
that moment would be the gleam of a golden head, and the sweetest
music his ears could hear the sound of a young girl's laughter.

But, alas! Daylight gave place to the sudden night of that region,
where no lingering twilight is known; and still over the great ranch
there rested the terrible silence which had followed the loss of one
merry voice.

CHAPTER III.

OLD CENTURY TAKES THE TRAIL

The clatter of horse's hoofs on the dry sward made Pedro, the
shepherd, lift his eyes from his basket weaving, but only for an
instant. The sight of Samson, the herder, mounted upon the fleetest
animal of the Sobrante stables, was nothing compared to the working
out of the intricate pattern he had set himself to follow. Even the
centenarian, dwelling in his lofty solitude, knew that there was
approaching the blessed Navidad, whereon all good Christians exchanged
gifts, in memory of the great gift the Son of God; and what could he
do but put forth his utmost ingenuity to please his heart's dearest,
even Jessica of the sunny face?

Like Aunt Sally, at the ranch, he had, at last, caught a feeling of
haste and wished not to be disturbed; so he did not even look up again
when he was accosted.

"Hello, old man! Hard at it, still?"

No reply forthcoming, Samson shouted, as if the shepherd were deaf:

"Where's Capt. Jess, abuleo (grandfather)?"

The deferential title won the attention which the loud voice could not
gain, and Pedro glanced carelessly upon the mighty herder, a mere
youth of sixty summers, and replied, with equal carelessness:

"Am I the nina's[A] keeper? But, no," then resumed his weaving.

In another instant the delicate, finely split rushes had been snatched
from the weaver's hands, and he exhorted:

"By all that's great, old man! Tell me, has Jessica Trent passed this
way?"

"Why