chose, as is the wont of women, Love's eternal path. Thus the Garvez
rancho, at his death became the Windham ranch and there dwelt Dona Anita
with her children Inez and Benito, for her husband, "Don Roberto"
Windham lingered with an engineering expedition in the wilds of Oregon.

Just nineteen was young Benito, straight and slim, combining in his
fledgling soul the austere heritage of Anglo-Saxons with the leaping
fires of Castile. Fondly, yet with something anxious in her glance, his
mother watched the boy as he sprang nimbly to the saddle of his favorite
horse. He was like her husband, strong and self-reliant. Yet,--she
sighed involuntarily with the thought,--he had much of the manner of her
handsome and ill-fated brother, Don Diego, victim of a duel that had
followed cards and wine.

"Why so troubled, madre mia?" The little hand of Inez stole into her
mother's reassuringly. "Is it that you fear for our Benito when he rides
among the Gringos of the puebla?"

Her dark crowned and exquisite head rose proudly and her eyes flashed as
she watched her brother riding with the grace of splendid horsemanship
toward the distant town of Yerba Buena. "He can take care of himself,"
she ended with, a toss of her head.

"To be sure, my little one," the Dona Windham answered smiling. No doubt
it was a foolish apprehension she decided. If only the Dona Briones who
lived on a ranchita near the bay-shore did not gossip so of the
Americano games of chance. And if only she might know what took Benito
there so frequently.

* * * * *