road two hours, and
have been reconnoitring, until I saw you hesitate at the cross roads."

"But who is in the boat?" asked Mrs. Tucker, partly to hide her
embarrassment.

"Only some early Chinese market gardener, I dare say. But you are safe
now. You are on your own land. You passed the boundary monument of the
rancho five minutes ago. Look! All you see before you is yours from the
embarcadero to yonder Coast Range."

The tone of half-raillery did not, however, cheer Mrs. Tucker. She
shuddered slightly and cast her eyes over the monotonous sea of tule and
meadow.

"It doesn't look pretty, perhaps," continued Poindexter, "but it's the
richest land in the State, and the embarcadero will some day be a town.
I suppose you'll call it Blue Grassville. But you seem tired!" he said,
suddenly dropping his voice to a tone of half-humorous sympathy.

Mrs. Tucker managed to get rid of an impending tear under the pretense
of clearing her eyes. "Are we nearly there?" she asked.

"Nearly. You know," he added with the same half-mischievous,
half-sympathizing gayety, "it's not exactly a palace you're coming
to. Hardly. It's the old casa that has been deserted for years, but I
thought it better you should go into possession there than take up your
abode at the shanty where your husband's farm-hands are. No one will
know when you take possession of the casa, while the very hour of
your arrival at the shanty would be known; and if they should make any
trouble--"

"If they should make any trouble?" repeated Mrs. Tucker, lifting her
frank, inquiring eyes to Poindexter.

His horse suddenly rearing from an apparently accidental prick of the
spur, it was a minute or two before he was able to explain. "I mean if
this ever comes up as a matter of evidence, you know. But here we are!"

What had seemed to be an overgrown mound rising like an island out of
the dead level of the grassy sea now resolved itself into a collection
of adobe walls, eaten and incrusted with shrubs and vines, that
bore some resemblance to the usual uninhabited-looking exterior of a
Spanish-American dwelling. Apertures that might have been lance-shaped
windows or only cracks and fissures in the walls were choked up with
weeds and grass, and gave no passing glimpse of the interior. Entering
a ruinous corral they came to a second entrance, which proved to be the
patio or courtyard. The deserted wooden corridor, with beams, rafters,
and floors whitened by the eterna