He
enjoyed them all impartially, until, about a year before this
story opens, he died profanely and comfortably. He had a big
funeral, and was sincerely mourned by a coterie of gouty old
Indian-fighters.
Las Palmas had changed greatly since Austin, senior, painfully
scrawled his slanting signature to the deed. It was a different
ranch now to what the old man had known; indeed, it was doubtful
if he would have recognized it, for even the house was new.
Alaire had some such thought in mind as she rode up to the gate on
the afternoon following her departure from the water-hole, and she
felt a thrill of pride at the acres of sprouting corn, the dense
green fields of alfalfa so nicely fitted between their fences.
They were like clean, green squares of matting spread for the feet
of summer.
A Mexican boy came running to care for her horse, a Mexican woman
greeted her as she entered the wide, cool hall and went to her
room. Alaire had ridden far. Part of the night had been spent at
the Balli goat-ranch, the remainder of the journey had been hot
and dusty, and even yet she was not wholly recovered from her
experience of the outward trip.
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