will myself forward to prepare them for the stranger," and before his
companion could detain him, he had disappeared at a sharp canter around
the curve of the trail.

Left to himself, the stranger took a more leisurely pace, which left him
ample time for reflection. Scamp as he was, there was something in the
simple credulity of poor Concho that made him uneasy. Not that his moral
consciousness was touched, but he feared that Concho's companions might,
knowing Concho's simplicity, instantly suspect him of trading upon it.
He rode on in a deep study. Was he reviewing his past life? A vagabond
by birth and education, a swindler by profession, an outcast by
reputation, without absolutely turning his back upon respectability, he
had trembled on the perilous edge of criminality ever since his boyhood.
He did not scruple to cheat these Mexicans,--they were a degraded
race,--and for a moment he felt almost an accredited agent of
progress and civilization. We never really understand the meaning of
enlightenment until we begin to use it aggressively.

A few paces further on four figures appeared in the now gathering
darkness of the trail. The stranger quickly recognized the beaming smile
of Concho, foremost of the party. A quick glance at the faces of the
others satisfied him that while they lacked Concho's good humor, they
certainly did not surpass him in intellect. "Pedro" was a stout vaquero.
"Manuel" was a slim half-breed and ex-convert of the Mission of San
Carmel, and "Miguel" a recent butcher of Monterey. Under the benign
influences of Concho that suspicion with which the ignorant regard
strangers died away, and the whole party escorted the stranger--who had
given his name as Mr. Joseph Wiles--to their camp-fire. So anxious were
they to begin their experiments that even the instincts of hospitality
were forgotten, and it was not until Mr. Wiles--now known as "Don