many times he look out there," he added, pointing toward the Loring
rancho.

"He was afraid father would catch him talking to one of the herders,"
laughed the girl.

"The vaquero Corlees he afraid of not even the bear, I think, Señorita."

Eleanor Loring laughed. "Don't you let father catch you calling him a
bear!" she cautioned, provoking the old herder to immediate apology and
a picturesque explanation of the fact that he had referred not to the
patron, but the grizzly.

"All right, Fernando. I'll not forget to tell the patron that you
called him a bear."

The old herder grinned and waved farewell as she mounted and rode down
the trail. Practical in everyday affairs, he untied his bandanna and
neatly folded and replaced it among his effects. As he came out of the
tent he picked up his hat. He was no longer the cavalier, but a
stoop-shouldered, shriveled little Mexican herder. He slouched out
toward the flock and called his son to dinner. No, it was not so many
years--was not the Señorita but twenty years old?--since he had wooed
the Señora Loring, then a slim dark girl of the people, his people, but
now the wealthy Señora, wife of his patron. Ah, yes! It was good that
she should have the comfortable home and the beautiful daughter. He
had nothing but his beloved sheep, but did they not belong to his
Señorita?