he butler,
appeared from the kitchen. At sight of Farrel, he halted, puzzled, but
recognized in him almost instantly the soldier who had so mysteriously
appeared at the house the night before. _El Mono_ was red of face and
obviously controlling with difficulty a cosmic cataclysm.

"Sir," he announced, respectfully, "that Indian of yours has announced
that he will shoot me if I attempt to serve breakfast."

Farrel grinned wanly.

"In that event, Murray," he replied, "if I were you, I should not attempt
to serve breakfast. You might be interested to know that I am now master
here and that, for the present, my own servants will minister to the
appetites of my guests. Thank you for your desire to serve, but, for the
present, you will not be needed here. If you will kindly step into the
kitchen, Carolina will later serve breakfast to you and the maids."

"I'm quite certain I've never heard of anything so extraordinary," Murray
murmured. "Mrs. Parker is not accustomed to being summoned to breakfast
with a bell."

"Indeed? I'm glad you mentioned that, Murray. Perhaps you would be good
enough to oblige me by announcing breakfast to Mr. and Mrs. Parker, Miss
Parker, and their guest, Mr. Okada."

"Thank you, sir," Murray murmured, and departed on his errand.

The first to respond to the summons was Kay. She was resplendent in a
stunning wash-dress and, evidently, was not prepared for the sight of
Farrel standing with his back to the black adobe fireplace. She paused
abruptly and stared at him frankly. He bowed.

"Good-morning, Miss Parker. I trust that, despite the excitement of the
early part of the night, you have enjoyed a very good rest."

"Good-morning, Don Miguel. Yes; I managed rather well with my sleep, all
things considered."

"You mustn't call me 'Don Miguel,'" he reminded her, with a faint smile.
"I am only Don Miguel to the Indians and _pelados_ and a few of my
father's old Spanish friends who are sticklers for etiquette. My father
was one of the last dons in San Marcos County, and the title fitted him
because he belonged to the generation of dons. If you call me, 'Don
Miguel,' I shall feel a little bit alien."

"Well, I agree with you, Mr. Farrel. You are too young and modern for
such an antiquated title. I like 'Don Mike' better."

"There is no further need for that distinguishing appellation," he
reminded her, "since my father's death."

She looked at him for several seconds and said