the show-case." And Pill was not averse to
the suggestion.

Sundown dismounted, opened the gate, and swinging to the saddle, rode
up to the ranch-house. Had he known that Anita, the daughter of Chico
Miguel, was at that moment talking with the wife of one of Loring's
herders; that she was describing him in glowing terms to her friend,
and moreover, as he passed up the driveway, that Anita had turned
swiftly, dropping the pitcher of milk which she had just brought from
the cooling-room as she saw him, he might well have been excused from
promulgating his mission of peace with any degree of coherence.
Sublimely ignorant of her presence,--spiritualists and sentimentalists
to the contrary in like instances,--he rode directly to the hacienda,
asked for the patron, and was shown to the cool interior of the house
by the mildly astonished Senora. Senor Loring would return presently.
Would the gentleman refresh himself by resting until the Senor
returned? Possibly she herself could receive the message--or the
Senorita, who was in the garden?

"Thanks, lady. I reckon Pill is dry--wants a drink--agua--got a
thirst. No, ma'am. I can wait. I mean me horse."

"Oh! Si! But Juan would attend to the horse and at once."

"Thanks, lady. And if Miss Loring ain't too busy, I reckon I'd like to
see her a minute."

The Senora disappeared. Sundown could hear her call for Juan.
Presently Nell Loring came to the room, checked an exclamation of
surprise as she recognized him, and stepping forward, offered her hand.
"You're from Mr. Corliss. I remember. . . . Is Chance all right now?"

"Yes, ma'am. He is enjoyin' fust-rate health. He eats reg'lar--and
rabbits in between. But I ain't from the Concho, lady. I'm from me
own ranch, down there at the water-hole. Me boss ain't got nothin' to
do with me bein' here. It's me own idea. I come friendly and wishful
to make a little talk to your pa."

Wondering what could have induced Sundown to call at her home,
especially under the existing circumstances, Nell Loring made him
welcome. After he had washed and strolled over to the stables to see
to his horse. Sundown, returning, declined an invitation to come in,
and sat on the veranda, smoking cigarettes and making mental note of
the exterior details of the hacienda: its garden, shade-trees, corrals,
and windmill. Should prosperity smile upon him, he would have a
windmill, be Gosh! Not a white one--though white wasn't so bad--