“That’s all right,” the storekeeper growled.  “You done first-rate, young man.  You tole the ole cuss in plain words what we’ve bin a-thinkin’ fer a coon’s age.  Help us?  Not he!”

Outside, our saddle-horses were hitched to the rail.  We had managed to save our horses.  Ajax and I rode down the valley, golden with the glory of the setting sun.  Beyond, the bleak, brown hills were clothed in an imperial livery of purple.  The sky was amber and rose.  But Ajax, like Gallio, cared for none of these things.  He was cursing his unruly tongue.  As we neared the big, empty barn, he turned in his saddle.

“Look here,” said he, “we’ll nip up to Pap’s after supper.  I shall ask him to help us.  I shall ask for a cheque.”

“You expect me to go with you on this tomfool’s errand?”

“Certainly.  We must use a little tact.  I’ll beg his pardon—­the doing of it will make me sick—­you shall ask for the cheque.  Yes, we’re fools; otherwise we shouldn’t be here in this forsaken wilderness.”

* * * * *

Pap lived just outside the village in an adobe built upon a small hill to the north-west of our ranch.  No garden surrounded it, no pleasant live oaks spread their shade between the porch and the big barns.  Pap could sit on his porch and survey his domain stretching for leagues in front of him, but he never did sit down in the daytime—­ except on a saddle—­and at night he went to bed early to save the expense of oil.  Knowing his habits, we rode up to the adobe about eight.  All was dark, and we could see, just below us, the twinkling lights of Paradise.  After thundering at the door twice, Pap appeared, carrying a lantern.  In answer to his first question, we told him that we had business to discuss.  Muttering to himself, he led us into the house and lighted two candles in the parlour.  We had never entered the parlour before, and accordingly looked about with interest and curiosity.  The furniture, which had belonged to Pap’s father-in-law, a Spanish-Californian, was of mahogany and horsehair, very good and substantial.  In a bookcase were some ancient tomes bound in musty leather.  A strange-looking piano, with a high back, covered with faded rose-coloured silk, stood in a corner.  Some half a dozen daguerreotypes, a case of stuffed humming-birds, and a wreath of flowers embellished the walls.  Upon everything lay the fine white dust of the dry year, which lay also thick upon many hearts.

“Sit ye down,” said Pap.  “I reckon ye’ve come up to ask for a loan?”

“Yes,” said Ajax.  “But first I wish to beg your pardon.  I had no right to speak as I did in the store this evening.  I’m sorry.”

Pap nodded indifferently.

“‘Twas good advice,” he muttered.  “I ain’t skeered o’ much, but diptheery gives me cold feet.  I calc’late to skin out o’ this and into the mountains to-morrer.  How about this yere loan?”

“It’s not for us,” said I.