. But Ajax,
like Gallio, cared for none of these things. He was cursing his unruly
tongue. As we neared the big, empty barn, he turned in his saddle.

"Look here," said he, "we'll nip up to Pap's after supper. I shall ask
him to help us. I shall ask for a cheque."

"You expect me to go with you on this tomfool's errand?"

"Certainly. We must use a little tact. I'll beg his pardon--the doing
of it will make me sick--you shall ask for the cheque. Yes, we're
fools; otherwise we shouldn't be here in this forsaken wilderness."

* * * * *

Pap lived just outside the village in an _adobe_ built upon a
small hill to the north-west of our ranch. No garden surrounded it, no
pleasant live oaks spread their shade between the porch and the big
barns. Pap could sit on his porch and survey his domain stretching for
leagues in front of him, but he never did sit down in the daytime--
except on a saddle--and at night he went to bed early to save the
expense of oil. Knowing his habits, we rode up to the _adobe_
about eight. All was dark, and we could see, just below us, the
twinkling lights of Paradise. After thundering at the door twice, Pap
appeared, carrying a lantern. In answer to his first question, we told
him that we had business to discuss. Muttering to himself, he led us
into the house and lighted two candles in the parlour. We had never
entered the parlour before, and accordingly looked about with interest
and curiosity. The furniture, which had belonged to Pap's father-in-
law, a Spanish-Californian, was of mahogany and horsehair, very good
and substantial. In a bookcase were some ancient tomes bound in musty
leather. A strange-looking piano, with a high back, covered with faded
rose-coloured silk, stood in a corner. Some half a dozen
daguerreotypes, a case of stuffed humming-birds, and a wreath of
flowers embellished the walls. Upon everything lay the fine white dust
of the dry year, which lay also thick upon many hearts.

"Sit ye down," said Pap. "I reckon ye've come up to ask for a loan?"

"Yes," said Ajax. "But first I wish to beg your pardon. I had no right
to speak as I did in the store this evening. I'm sorry."

Pap nodded indifferently.

"'Twas good advice," he muttered. "I ain't skeered o' much, but
diptheery gives me cold feet. I calc'late to skin out o' this and into
the mountains to-morrer. How about this yere loan?"

"It's not for us," said I.

"I don't lend no good dollars on s