had already leaped to the ground and thrown him the reins.

"Miguel," she said, with a mistress's quiet authority in her boyish
contralto voice, "put Glory in the covered wagon, and drive down the
road as far as the valley turning. There's a man lying near the right
bank, drunk, or sick, may be, or perhaps crippled by a fall. Bring him
up here, unless somebody has found him already, or you happen to know
who he is and where to take him."

The vaquero raised his shoulders, half in disappointed expectation
of some other command. "And your brother, senora, he has not himself
arrived."

A light shadow of impatience crossed her face. "No," she said, bluntly.
"Come, be quick."

She turned towards the house as the man moved away. Already a
gaunt-looking old man had appeared in the porch, and was awaiting her
with his hand shadowing his angry, suspicious eyes, and his lips moving
querulously.

"Of course, you've got to stand out there and give orders and 'tend
to your own business afore you think o' speaking to your own flesh and
blood," he said aggrievedly. "That's all YOU care!"

"There was a sick man lying in the road, and I've sent Miguel to look
after him," returned the girl, with a certain contemptuous resignation.

"Oh, yes!" struck in another voice, which seemed to belong to the female
of the first speaker's species, and to be its equal in age and temper,