to the ground as he passed. Again, and once again, the shadowy
coil sped upward and onward, slowly detaching its snaky rings with
a weird deliberation that was in strange contrast to the impetuous
onset of the rider, and yet seemed a part of his fury. And then
turning, Pereo trotted gently to the centre of the circle.

Here he divested himself of his serape, and, securing it in a
cylindrical roll, placed it upright on the ground and once more
sped away on his furious circuit. But this time he wheeled
suddenly before it was half completed and bore down directly upon
the unconscious object. Within a hundred feet he swerved slightly;
the long detaching rings again writhed in mid air and softly
descended as he thundered past. But when he had reached the line
of circuit again, he turned and made directly for the road he had
entered. Fifty feet behind his horse's heels, at the end of a
shadowy cord, the luckless serape was dragging and bounding after
him!

"The old man is quiet enough this morning," said Andreas, as he
groomed the sweat-dried skin of the mustang the next day. "It is
easy to see, friend Pinto, that he has worked off his madness on
thee."


CHAPTER IV


The Rancho of San Antonio might have been a characteristic asylum
for its blessed patron, offering as it did a secure retreat from
temptations for the carnal eye, and affording every facility for