ed to leave a deep and lasting impression upon the
observers. It was undoubtedly owing to this quality during a brief
visit of the famous viceroy to a remote and married ancestress of Don
Jose at Leon that the singular resemblance may be attributed.

A heavy and hesitating step along the passage stopped before the
grating. Looking up, Don Jose beheld to his astonishment the slightly
inflamed face of Roberto, a vagabond American whom he had lately taken
into his employment.

Roberto, a polite translation of "Bob the Bucker," cleaned out at a
monte-bank in Santa Cruz, penniless and profligate, had sold his
mustang to Don Jose and recklessly thrown himself in with the bargain.
Touched by the rascal's extravagance, the quality of the mare, and
observing that Bob's habits had not yet affected his seat in the
saddle, but rather lent a demoniac vigor to his chase of wild cattle,
Don Jose had retained rider and horse in his service as vaquero.

Bucking Bob, observing that his employer was alone, coolly opened the
door without ceremony, shut it softly behind him, and then closed the
wooden shutter of the grating. Don Jose surveyed him with mild
surprise and dignified composure. The man appeared perfectly
sober,--it was a peculiarity of his dissipated habits that, when not
actually raving with drink, he was singularly shrewd and practical.

"Look yer, Don Kosay," he began in a brusque but guarded voice, "you
and me is pards. When ye picked me and the mare up and set us on our
legs again in this yer ranch, I allowed I'd tie to ye whenever you was
in trouble--and wanted me. And I reckon that's what's the matter now.
For from what I see and hear on every side, although you're the boss of
this consarn, you're surrounded by a gang of spies and traitors. Your
comings and goings, your ins and outs, is dogged and followed and blown
upon. The folks you trust is playing it on ye. It ain't for me to say
why or wherefore--what's their rights and what's yourn--but I've come
to tell ye that if you don't get up and get outer this ranch them d--d
priests and your own flesh and blood--your aunts and your uncles and
your cousins, will have you chucked outer your property, and run into a
lunatic asylum."

"Me--Don Jose Sepulvida--a lunatico! You are yourself crazy of drink,
friend Roberto."

"Yes," said Roberto grimly, "but that kind ain't ILLEGAL, while your
makin' ducks and drakes of your property and going into 'Merikin ideas
an