[Illustration:  The girl—­Kay Parker.]

When Miss Parker had ridden away with Pablo at her heels, Bill Conway unburdened himself of a slightly ribald little chanson entitled:  “What Makes the Wild Cat Wild?” In the constant repetition of this query it appeared that the old Californian sought the answer to a riddle not even remotely connected with the mystifying savagery of non-domestic felines.

Suddenly he slapped his thigh.  “Got it,” he informed the payroll he had been trying to add for half an hour.  “Got it!  She does love him.  Her explanation of her action is good but not good enough for me.  Medal of Honor man!  Rats.  She could loan him the money to pay her father, on condition that her father should never know the source of the aid, but if they reduced their association to a business basis he would have to decide between the ranch and her.  She knows how he loves this seat of his ancestors—­she fears for the decision.  And if he decided for the ranch there would be no reasonable excuse for the Parker family to stick around, would there?  There would not.  So he is not to be lost sight of for a year.  Yes, of course that’s it.  Methinks the lady did protest too much.  God bless her.  I wonder what he thinks of her.  One can never tell.  It might be just her luck to fail to make a hit with him.  Oh, Lord, if that happened I’d shoot him, I would for a fact.  Guess I’ll drop in at the ranch some day next week and pump the young idiot. . . .  No, I’ll not.  My business is building dams and bridges and concrete highways . . . well, I might take a chance and sound him out . . . still, what thanks would I get . . . no, I’ll be shot if I will . . . oh, to the devil with thanks.  If he don’t like it he can lump it. . . .”

  “What makes the wild cat wild, boys,
  Oh, what makes the wild cat wild?”

CHAPTER XXVI

It was fully two weeks before Miguel returned to the ranch from the little hospital at El Toro.  During that period the willows had already started to sprout on the last abiding place of Kano Ugichi, the pain had left the Farrel head and the Farrel attorney had had Andre Loustalot up in the Superior Court, where he had won a drawn verdict.  The cash in bank was proved to have been deposited there by Loustalot personally; it had been subject to his personal check, and was accordingly adjudged to be his personal property and ordered turned over to Miguel Farrel in partial liquidation of the ancient judgment which Farrel held against the Basque.  A preponderance of testimony, however (Don Nicolas Sandoval swore it was all perjured and paid for) indicated that but one quarter of the sheep found on the Rancho Palomar belonged to Loustalot, the remainder being owned by his foreman and employees.  To Farrel, therefore, these sheep were awarded, and in some occult manner Don Nicolas Sandoval selected them from the flock; then, acting under instructions