“I have to drive to Antelope Springs this morning.  It is not a rough trip at all.  If you would care to see the country——­”

She paused, a question in her face.  Her guest jumped at the chance.

“There is nothing I should like better.  If you are sure it will be no inconvenience.”

“I am sure I should not have asked you if I had not wanted you,” she said; and he took it as a reproof.

She drove a pair of grays that took the road with the spirit of racers.  The young woman sat erect and handled the reins masterfully, the while Muir leaned back and admired the steadiness of the slim, strong wrists, the businesslike directness with which she gave herself to her work, the glow of life whipped into her eyes and cheeks by the exhilaration of the pace.

“I suppose you know all about these old land-grants that were made when New Mexico was a Spanish colony and later when it was a part of Mexico,” he suggested.

Her dark eyes rested gravely on him an instant before she answered:  “Most of us that were brought up on them know something of the facts.”

“You are familiar with the Valdes grant?”

“Yes.”

“And with the Moreno grant, made by Governor Armijo?”

“Yes.”

“The claims conflict, do they not?”

“The Moreno grant is taken right from the heart of the Valdes grant.  It includes all the springs, the valleys, the irrigable land; takes in everything but the hilly pasture land in the mountains, which, in itself, is valueless.”

“The land included in this grant is of great value?”

“It pastures at the present time fifty thousand sheep and about twelve thousand head of cattle.”

“Owned by Miss Valdes?”

“Owned by her and her tenants.”

“She’s what you call a cattle queen, then.  Literally, the cattle on a thousand hills are hers.”

“As they were her father’s and her grandfather’s before her, to be held in trust for the benefit of about eight hundred tenants,” she answered quietly.

“Tell me more about it.  The original grantee was Don Bartolome de Valdes, was he not?”

“Yes.  He was the great-great-grandson of Don Alvaro de Valdes y Castillo, who lost his head because he was a braver and a better man than the king.  Don Bartolome, too, was a great soldier and ruler.  He was generous and public-spirited to a fault; and when the people of this province suffered from Indian raids he distributed thousands of sheep to relieve their distress.”

“Bully for the old boy.  He was a real philanthropist.”

“Not at all.  He had to do it.  His position required it of him.”

“That was it, eh?”

Her dusky eyes questioned him.

“You couldn’t understand, I suppose, since you are an American, how he was the father and friend of all the people in these parts; how his troopers and vaqueros were a defense to the whole province?”