“Your cattle—what will you do with them?” asked Frank. “I suppose those are your cattle in the valley?”
“Yes, dem mine. I know way to drive dem out. I sell dem.”
But still little Felicia was greatly distressed over the thought of going away and leaving her home. She knew no other home, and that one was very dear to her.
“Must we go, papa?” she sobbed. “Must we go?”
“I am ’fraid of dat,” he nodded. “We find some place else to live.”
Again he saw the visitors looking at him curiously.
“You t’ink I do somet’ing wrong?” he cried. “I do not’ing but fight for liberty. I make enemies dat swear to kill me if da follow me to da hot place. At first I feel no fear of dem. Den da gov’ment pronounce me outlaw—put da price on me! I have to fly from my country. My enemy follow. I have to fight for my life. I kill one, two, t’ree. Dat make dem worse. All da relation swear to find me an’ take my head to da gov’ment. I find myself hunted man night an’ day. Den, at last, when I marry beautiful American wife, for her sake I have to find place where we can live quiet. Den I come here, and we live here happy together.”
It was an interesting and tragic story, and Merry did not doubt its truth. So this man, Juan Delores as he called himself, had been married to an American woman, who was the mother of Felicia.
Delores looked from one to the other of his visitors.
“You believe me?” he asked.