"Senora, tell me how we came here," he asked. "My head will burst until I know."

"Our bell mare, the most valuable on our rancho, strayed far the day before yesterday. All that day and the next six vaqueros looked for her. One traced her to the Sierras and went on in spite of the storm. He found her, and, just afterward—you. He thought you were dead, but poured aguardiente down your throats. You swallowed but did not awaken, although he shook you and pounded you. Then he strapped your friend—Adan, no? upon the back of Lolita, took you in his arms, and galloped for home—you were almost at the foot of the mountain. Ay! but I was frightened when you came. Gracias a dios that you are well and not frozen. Bueno, I go to send you a good breakfast. Hasta luego."

She went out, and Roldan lay wondering if the breakfast were already cooked. The door opened again. Roldan sat up. But it was Adan. He wore a long nightgown and dug his knuckles into his eyes. His knees, too, were shaky.

"Hist, Roldan," he whispered loudly. "Are you there, or do I dream?"

"Come into my bed and have breakfast—breakfast, Adan!"

Adan gathered his remaining energies, bolted across the room, and climbed into bed.

"Dios de mi alma, Roldan," he gasped. "Where are we, and why are we sweltered like sick babies? This is a fine place. Ay! may I never see snow nor a redwood again!"

Roldan told what he knew of the beginning of their new chapter, and soon after he finished two Indian servants entered with trays, set them on the bed, and retired.

"Ay! this looks like home," cried Adan, almost in tears. "Chocolate! Tortillas! Chicken with yellow rice!" He crossed himself fervently and attacked the fragrant meal.

It was not a large breakfast, for it was many hours since they had eaten before; they left not a grain of rice nor a shred on a bone. But half-satisfied, although very comfortable, they made up their minds to dress. On the chair was a complete outfit, suitable for a young don. Roldan concluded it had been thoughtfully placed at his disposal that he might not appear in the sala of Casa Carillo garbed like a coyote. How he hated the memory of that ugly and infested garment.