“I think I can understand that.”

“So it was, even to his death, that he looked out for the poor peons dependent upon him.  His herds grew mighty; and he asked of Facundo Megares, governor of the royal province, a grant of land upon which to pasture them.  These herds were for his people; but they were in his name and belonged to him.  Why should he not have been given land for them, since his was the sword that had won the land against the Apaches?”

“You ain’t heard me say he shouldn’t have had it”

“So the alcalde executed the act of possession for a tract, to be bounded on the south by Crow Spring, following its cordillera to the Ojo del Chico, east to the Pedornal range, north to the Ojo del Cibolo —­Buffalo Springs—­and west to the great divide.  It was a princely estate, greater than the State of Delaware; and Don Bartolome held it for the King of Spain, and ruled over it with powers of life and death, but always wisely and generously, like the great-hearted gentleman he was.”

“Bully for him.”

“And at his death his son ruled in his stead; and his only son died in the Spanish-American War, as a lieutenant of volunteers in the United States Army.  He was shot before Santiago.”

The voice died away in her tremulous throat; and he wondered if it could be possible that this girl had been betrothed to the young soldier.  But presently she spoke again, cheerfully and lightly: 

“Wherefore, it happens that there remains only a daughter of the house of Valdes to carry the burden that should have been her brother’s, to look out for his people, and to protect them both against themselves and others.  She may fail; but, if I know her, the failure will not be because she has not tried.”

“Good for her.  I’d like to shake her aristocratic little paw and tell her to buck in and win.”

“She would no doubt be grateful for your sympathy,” the young woman answered, flinging a queer little look of irony at him.

“But what’s the hitch about the Valdes grant?  Why is there a doubt of its legality?”

She smiled gaily at him.

“No person who desires to remain healthy has any doubts in this neighborhood.  We are all partizans of Valencia Valdes; and many of her tenants are such warm followers that they would not think twice about shedding blood in defense of her title.  You must remember that they hold through her right.  If she were dispossessed so would they be.”

“Is that a threat?  I mean, would it be if I were a claimant?” he asked, meeting her smile pleasantly.

“Oh, no.  Miss Valdes would regret any trouble, and so should I.”  A shadow crossed her face as she spoke.  “But she could not prevent her friends from violence, I am afraid.  You see, she is only a girl, after all.  They would move without her knowledge.  I know they would.”

“How would they move?  Would it be a knife in the dark?”