went. And the days, with Sundays at their head, formed into hebdomadal
squads; and the weeks, captained by the full moon, closed ranks into
menstrual companies crying "Tempus fugit" on their banners; and the
months marched on toward the vast camp-ground of the years; but Webb
Yeager came no more to the dominions of his queen.

One day a being named Bartholomew, a sheep-man--and therefore of
little account--from the lower Rio Grande country, rode in sight of
the Nopalito ranch-house, and felt hunger assail him. /Ex
consuetudine/ he was soon seated at the mid-day dining table of that
hospitable kingdom. Talk like water gushed from him: he might have
been smitten with Aaron's rod--that is your gentle shepherd when an
audience is vouchsafed him whose ears are not overgrown with wool.

"Missis Yeager," he babbled, "I see a man the other day on the Rancho
Seco down in Hidalgo County by your name--Webb Yeager was his. He'd
just been engaged as manager. He was a tall, light-haired man, not
saying much. Perhaps he was some kin of yours, do you think?"

"A husband," said Santa cordially. "The Seco has done well. Mr. Yeager
is one of the best stockmen in the West."

The dropping out of a prince-consort rarely disorganises a monarchy.
Queen Santa had appointed as /mayordomo/ of the ranch a trusty
subject, named Ramsay, who had been one of her father's faithful
vassals. And there was scarcely a ripple on the Nopalito ranch save
when the gulf-breeze created undulations in the grass of its wide
acres.

For several years the Nopalito had been making experiments with an