, like Pablo, could observe anybody coming up the palm-lined
avenue. A young moon was rising over the hills, and by its light Kay
knew she could detect Don Mike while he was yet some distance from the
house.

At seven-thirty, he had not appeared, and she grew impatient and
strolled round to the other side of the hacienda. Before Pablo's
_casa_, she saw the red end of a cigarette; so she knew that Pablo also
watched.

"I _must_ see him first," she decided. "Pablo's heart is right toward
Don Mike, but resentful toward us. I do not want him to pass that
resentment on to his master."

She turned back round the hacienda again, crossed down over the lip of
the mesa at right angles to the avenue, and picked her way through the
oaks. When she was satisfied that Pablo could not see her, she made
her way back to the avenue, emerging at the point where it connected
with the wagon-road down the valley. Just off the avenue, a live-oak
had fallen, and Kay sat down on the trunk of it to watch and wait.

Presently she saw him coming, and her heart fluttered in fear at the
meeting. She, who had for months marked the brisk tread of military
men, sensed now the drag, the slow cadence of his approach; wherefore
she realized that he knew! In the knowledge that she would not have to
break the news to him, a sense of comfort stole over her.

As he came closer, she saw that he walked with his chin on his breast;
when he reached the gate at the end of the avenue, he did not see it
and bumped into it. "_Dios mio_!" she heard him mutter. "_Dios!
Dios! Dios!_" The last word ended in tragic crescendo; he leaned on
the gate, and there, in the white silence, the last of the Farrels
stood gazing up the avenue as if he feared to enter.

Kay sat on the oak trunk, staring at him, fascinated by the tragic
tableau.

Suddenly, from the hacienda, a hound gave tongue--a long, bell-like
baying, with a timbre in it that never creeps into a hound's voice
until he has struck a warm scent. Another hound took up the cry--and
still another. Don Mike started.

"That's Nip!" Kay heard him murmur, as the first hound sounded. "Now,
Mollie! Come now, Nailer! Where's Hunter? Hunter's dead! You've
scented me!"

Across the mesa, the pack came bellowing, scattering the wet leaves
among the oaks as they took the short cut to the returning master.
Into the avenue they swept; the leader leaped for the top of the gate,
poised there an instant, and