clothes laid out on the bed. However, he would not wear them to-night.
A little later, while he was hanging them in the clothes-press, a
propitiatory cough sounded at the door. Turning, he beheld the
strangest sight ever seen on the Rancho Palomar--a butler, bearing a
tray covered with a napkin.

"Good-evening," quoth Don Miguel civilly. "Set it down on the little
table yonder, please. May I inquire why you bear the tray on your left
hand and carry a pistol in your right?"

"Your servant, the man Pablo, has threatened my life, sir, if I dared
bear your dinner to you, sir. He met me a moment ago and demanded that
I surrender the tray to him, sir. Instead, I returned to the kitchen,
possessed myself of this pistol, and defied him, sir."

"I apologize for Pablo, and will see to it that he does not disturb you
again--er--"

"Murray, sir."

"Thank you, Murray."

The butler was about to advance into the room and set the tray on the
table as directed, when an unexpected _contretemps_ occurred. A
swarthy hand followed by a chambray-clad arm was thrust in the door,
and the pistol snatched out of Murray's hand before the latter even
knew what was about to transpire. Pablo Artelan stepped into the room.

"_Vamos_! Go!" he ordered, curtly, and relieved the astonished butler
of the tray. Murray glanced at Don Miguel.