She was late in joining the others at table.  To her great relief, after rising politely at her entrance and favoring her with an impersonal smile, Farrel sat down and continued to discuss with John Parker and his wife the great natural resources of Siberia and the designs of the Japanese empire upon that territory.  About the time the black coffee made its appearance, Kay’s harassed soul had found sanctuary in the discussion of a topic which she knew would be of interest—­one in which she felt she could join exuberantly.

“Do tell father and mother of your plans for a fiesta, Miguel,” she pleaded presently.

“A fiesta, eh?” Mrs. Parker was instantly interested.  “Miguel, that is, indeed, a bright thought.  I volunteer as a patroness here and now.  John, you can be a judge of the course, or something.  Miguel, what is the occasion of your fiesta?”

“At a period in the world’s history, Mrs. Parker, when butter is a dollar a pound and blue-denim over-alls sell freely for three dollars a pair, I think we ought to do something to dissipate the general gloom.  I want to celebrate my return to civil life, and my more recent return from the grave.  Also, I would just as lief indicate to the county at large that, outside of business hours, we constitute a very happy little family here; so if you all please, I shall announce a fiesta in honor of the Parker family.”

“It will last all day and night and we are to have a Wild West show,” Kay added eagerly.

“Where will it be held, Miguel?”

“Down at our old abandoned race-track, about a mile from here.”

Mrs. Parker nodded approval.  “John, you old dud,” she decided, “you always liked horse-races and athletics.  You’re stuck for some prizes.”

Her indulgent husband good-naturedly agreed, and at Kay’s suggestion, Carolina brought a pencil and a large writing-tablet, whereupon the girl constituted herself secretary of the carnival committee and wrote the program, as arranged by Don Mike and her father.  She thrilled when Farrel announced a race of six furlongs for ladies’ saddle-horses, to be ridden by their owners.

“You ought to win that with Panchito,” he suggested to Kay.

Kay’s heart beat happily.  In Farrel’s suggestion that she ride Panchito in this race she decided that here was evidence that her host did not contemplate any action that would tend to render the ranch untenable for her prior to the fiesta; indeed, there was nothing in his speech or bearing that indicated the slightest mental perturbation now that he had discovered the compact existing between her and Bill Conway.  Perhaps his pride was not so high as she had rated it; what if her action had been secretly pleasing to him?

Somehow, Kay found this latter thought disturbing and distasteful.  It was long past midnight before she could dismiss the enigma from her thoughts and fall asleep.