t that
he dashed along the swale in the direction of the Amador rancho. A
few vaqueros, an old Digger squaw carrying a basket, two little Indian
acolytes on their way to mass passed him. He was surprised to find that
there were no ruts of carriage wheels within three miles of the casa,
and evidently no track for carriages through the swale. SHE must have
come on HORSEBACK. A broader highway, however, intersected the trail at
a point where the low walls of the Amador rancho came in view. Here he
was startled by the apparition of an old-fashioned family carriage drawn
by two large piebald mules. But it was unfortunately closed. Then, with
a desperate audacity new to his reserved nature, he ranged close beside
it, and even stared in the windows. A heavily mantled old woman, whose
brown face was in high contrast to her snow-white hair, sat in the back
seat. Beside her was a younger companion, with the odd blonde hair and
blue eyes sometimes seen in the higher Castilian type. For an instant
the blue eyes caught his, half-coquettishly. But the girl was NOT at all
like his mysterious visitor, and he fell, discomfited, behind.

He had determined to explain his trespass on the grounds of his
neighbor, if questioned, by the excuse that he was hunting a strayed
mustang. But his presence, although watched with a cold reserve by the
few peons who were lounging near the gateway, provoked no challenge from
them; and he made a circuit of the low adobe walls, with their barred
windows and cinnamon-tiled roofs, without molestation--but equally
without satisfaction. He felt he was a fool for imagining that he would
see her in that way. He turned his horse towards the little Mission
half a mile away. There he had once met the old padre, who spoke a
picturesque but limited English; now he was only a few yards ahead of
him, just turning into the church. The padre was pleased to see Don
Ricardo; it was an unusual thing for the Americanos, he observed, to
be up so early: for himself, he had his functions, of course. No, the
ladies that the caballero had seen had not been to mass! They were Donna
Maria and her daughter, going to San Gregorio. They comprised ALL the
family at the rancho,--there were none others, unless the caballero, of
a possibility, meant Donna Inez, a maiden aunt of sixty--an admirable
woman, a saint on earth! He trusted that he would find his estray; there
was no doubt a mark upon it, otherwise the plain was illimitable; ther