ave little weight with your father, I fear, when
I ask him to set aside the foreclosure, grant me a new mortgage, and
give me a fighting chance to retain the thing I love." And his
outflung arm indicated the silent, moonlit valley.

"Perhaps," she replied, soberly. "He is a businessman. Nevertheless,
it might not be a bad idea if you were to defer the crossing of your
bridges until you come to them." She unlatched the gate and swung it
open for him to pass through.

He hesitated.

"I didn't intend to enter the house to-night," he explained. "I merely
wanted to see Pablo and have a talk with him. My sudden appearance on
the scene might, perhaps, prove very embarrassing to your family."

"I dare say. But that cannot be helped. Your right of entrance and
occupancy cannot be questioned. Until the period of redemption
expires, I think nobody will dispute your authority as master here."

"I had forgotten that phase of the situation. Thank you." He passed
through the gate and closed it for her. Then he stepped to the side of
the road, wet his handkerchief in a pool of clean rain-water, and
mopped his eyes. "I'll have to abandon the luxury of tears," he
declared, grimly. "They make one's eyes burn. By the way, I do not
know your name."

"I am Kay Parker."

"'Kay' for what?"

"Kathleen."

He nodded approvingly.

"You neglected to leave my dunnage at the mission; Miss Parker."

"After you told me who you were, I realized you would sleep at the
ranch to-night, so I kept your things in the car. They are in your old
room now."

"Thank you for an additional act of kindness and thoughtfulness." He
adjusted his overseas cap, snugged his blouse down over his hips,
flipped from it the wet sand deposited there by the paws of the
hound-pack, and said, "Let's go."

Where the avenue debouched into the ranch-yard, Pablo and Carolina
awaited them. The old majordomo was wrapped in aboriginal dignity.
His Indian blood bade him greet Don Mike as casually as if the latter
had merely been sojourning in El Toro the past two years, but the faint
strain of Spanish in him dictated a different course as Don Mike
stepped briskly up to him with outstretched hand and greeted him
affectionately in Spanish. Off came the weather-stained old sombrero,
flung to the ground beside him, as Pablo dropped on his knees, seized
his master's hand, and bowed his head over it.

"Don Miguel," he said, "my life is yours."

"I know it