of those wondrous one-man concerts dear to all the
countryside.

"Jeems" himself appeared in the doorway to wave a greeting and Benito
went on oddly cheered by the encounter. In front of the Mansion House,
adjoining Mission Dolores, stood Bob Ridley, talking with his partner.

"You look warm, son," he remarked paternally to Windham, "let me mix you
up a milk punch and you'll feel more like yourself. Where's your boss
and whither are ye bound?"

"Died," Benito answered. "Going to my--to the ranch."

"Thought so," Ridley said. "I hear there's no one on it. Why not steal a
march on that tin-horn gambler and scallawag. Rally up some friends and
take possession. That's nine points of the law, my boy, and a half-dozen
straight-shooting Americans is nine hundred more, now that Geary's
alcalde and that weak-kneed psalm-singing Leavenworth's resigned
under fire."

"You're sure--there's no one at the place?" Benito questioned.

"Pretty sure. But what's it matter? Everybody knows it's yours by
rights. Wait," he cried, excitedly. "I'll get horses. Stuart and I will
go along. We'll pick up six or seven bully boys along the way. Is it
a go?"

"A go!" exclaimed Benito, his eyes ashine. "You--you're too good, Bob
Ridley." He pressed the other's hand. "My wife," he mused, "among the
roses in the patio! The old home, Dear God! Let it come true!"

An hour later ten men galloped through the gate of the Windham rancho.
No one offered them resistance. It had the look of a place long
abandoned. Dead leaves and litter everywhere. All of the animals had
been driven off--sold, no doubt. The hacienda had been ransacked of its
valuables. It was almost bare of furniture. The rose court, neglected,
unkempt, brought back a surge of memories. A chimney had fallen; broken
adobe bricks lay scattered on the grass.

But to Benito it spelled home. For him and for Alice. This should be his
Christmas gift. Old Antonio, his former major-domo, lingered still in
San Francisco. He would send him out this very day to set the place in
order. Tomorrow he and Alice would ride--his brow clouded. He should
have to borrow two horses. No matter. Tomorrow they would ride--

A startled exclamation from Bob Ridley roused him from his rhapsody.

"Benito, come here! Look! What the devil is that?"

From their eminence the town of San Francisco was plainly visible; tall,
thin shafts of smoke rising straight and black from many chimneys; the
blue bay shimmering in