“You haven’t changed a bit, father Dominic.”

“Mummies do not change, my son.  I have accomplished ninety-two years of my life; long ago I used up all possibilities for change, even for the worse.  It is good to have you home, Miguel.  Pablo brought us the news early this morning.  We wondered why you did not look in upon us as you passed last night.”

“I looked in at my father’s grave.  I was in no mood for meeting those who had loved him.”

For perhaps half an hour they conversed; then the peace of the valley was broken by the rattling and labored puffing of an asthmatic automobile.

Father Dominic rose and peered around the corner.  “Yonder comes one who practises the great virtue of economy,” he announced, “for he is running without lights.  Doubtless he deems the moonlight sufficient.”

Farrel stepped out into the road and held up his arm as a signal for the motorist to halt.  Old Bill Conway swung his prehistoric automobile off the road and pulled up before the Mission, his carbon-heated motor continuing to fire spasmodically even after he had turned off the ignition.

“Hello, Miguel,” he called, cheerily.  “What are you doing here, son?”

“Calling on my spiritual adviser and waiting for you, Bill.”

“Howdy, Father Dominic.”  Conway leaped out and gave his hand to the old friar.  “Miguel, how did you know I was coming?”

“This is the only road out of Agua Caliente basin—­and I know you!  You’d give your head for a football to anybody you love, but the man who takes anything away from you will have to get up early in the morning.”

“Go to the head of the class, boy.  You’re right.  I figured Parker would be getting up rather early tomorrow morning and dusting into El Toro to clear for action, so I thought I’d come in to-night.  I’m going to rout out an attorney the minute I get to town, have him draw up a complaint in my suit for damages against Parker for violation of contract, file the complaint the instant the county clerk’s office opens in the morning and then attach his account in the El Toro bank.”

“You might attach his stock in that institution while you’re at it, Bill.  However, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to attach his two automobiles.  The Parkers are guests of mine and I wouldn’t inconvenience the ladies for anything,”

“By the Holy Poker!  Have they got two automobiles?” There was a hint of apprehension in old Conway’s voice.

“Si, senor.  A touring car and a limousine.”

“Oh, lord!  I’m mighty glad you told me, Miguel.  I only stole the spark plugs from that eight cylinder touring car.  Lucky thing the hounds know me.  They like to et me up at first.”

Farrel sat down on the filthy running board of Bill Conway’s car and laughed softly.  “Oh, Bill, you’re immense!  So that’s why you’re running without lights!  You concluded that even if he did get up early in the morning you couldn’t afford to permit him to reach El Toro before the court-house opened for business.”