saddle in front of the Nopalito ranch-house, and stumbled with
whizzing rowels toward the gallery. Bud was in charge of the bunch of
beef-cattle that was to strike the trail that morning for San Antonio.
Mrs. Yeager was on the gallery watering a cluster of hyacinths growing
in a red earthenware jar.

"King" McAllister had bequeathed to his daughter many of his strong
characteristics--his resolution, his gay courage, his contumacious
self-reliance, his pride as a reigning monarch of hoofs and horns.
/Allegro/ and /fortissimo/ had been McAllister's temp and tone. In
Santa they survived, transposed to the feminine key. Substantially,
she preserved the image of the mother who had been summoned to wander
in other and less finite green pastures long before the waxing herds
of kine had conferred royalty upon the house. She had her mother's
slim, strong figure and grave, soft prettiness that relieved in her
the severity of the imperious McAllister eye and the McAllister air of
royal independence.

Webb stood on one end of the gallery giving orders to two or three
sub-bosses of various camps and outfits who had ridden in for
instructions.

"Morning," said Bud briefly. "Where do you want them beeves to go in
town--to Barber's, as usual?"

Now, to answer that had been the prerogative of the queen. All the
reins of business--buying, selling, and banking--had been held by her
capable fingers. The handling of cattle had been entrusted fully to
her husband. In the days of "King" McAllister, Santa had been his
secretary and helper; and she had continued her work with wisdom and