“Curious man!” the girl concluded.  “However—­he’s a man, and when we meet again, I’m going to investigate thoroughly and see what else he has in his head.”

Upon further reflection, she reminded herself that he hadn’t disclosed, in anything he had said, the fact that his head contained thoughts or information of more than ordinary value.  He had merely created that impression.  Even his discussion of the Japanese problem had been cursory, and, as she mentally back-tracked on their conversation, the only striking remark of his which she recalled was his whimsical assurance that he knew why young turkeys are hard to raise in the fall.  She smiled to herself.

“Well, Kay, did you find him pleasant company?”

She looked up and discovered her father slipping into the chair so lately vacated by the object of her thoughts.

“’Lo, pop!  You mean the ex-soldier?” He nodded.  “Queerest man I’ve ever met.  But he is pleasant company.”

“I thought so.  Tell me, daughter:  What you were smiling about just now.”

“He said he knew why young turkeys are hard to raise in the fall.”

“Why are they?”

“I don’t know, dear.  He didn’t tell me.  Can you?”

“The problem is quite beyond me, Kay.”  He unfolded his napkin.  “Splendid-looking young chap, that!  Struck me he ought to have more in his head than frivolous talk about the difficulty of rearing young turkeys.”

“I think he has a great deal more in his head than that.  In fact, I do not understand why he should have mentioned young turkeys at all, because he’s a cattleman.  And he comes from the San Gregorio valley.”

“Indeed!  What’s his name?”

“He didn’t tell me.  But he knows all about the ranch you took over from the Gonzales estate.”

“But I didn’t foreclose on that.  It was the Farrel estate.”

“He called it something else—­the Palomares rancho, I think.”

“Gonzales owns the Palomares rancho, but the Palomar rancho belonged to old Don Miguel Farrel.”

“Was he the father of the boy they call ’Don Mike’—­he who was killed in Siberia?"’

“The same.”

“Why did you have to foreclose on his ranch, father?”

“Well, the interest had been unpaid for two years, and the old man was getting pretty feeble; so, after the boy was killed, I realized that was the end of the Farrel dynasty and that the mortgage would never be paid.  Consequently, in self-protection, I foreclosed.  Of course, under the law, Don Miguel had a year’s grace in which to redeem the property, and during that year I couldn’t take possession without first proving that he was committing waste upon it.  However, the old man died of a broken heart a few months after receiving news of his son’s death, and, in the protection of my interest, I was forced to petition the court to grant me permission to enter into possession.  It was my duty to protect the equity of the heirs, if any.”