“How beautiful they look against those green and purple and gold hillsides!” the girl exclaimed.

“Usually a sheep is not beautiful to a cow-man,” he reminded her.  “However, if those sheep belong to Loustalot, they constitute the fairest sight mine eyes have gazed upon to date.”

“And who might he be?”

“That shaggy thief I manhandled a few minutes ago.  He’s a sheep-man from the San Carpojo, and for a quarter of a century he has not dared set foot on the Palomar.  Your father, thinking I was dead and that the ranch would never be redeemed after foreclosure of the mortgage, leased the grazing-privilege to Loustalot.  I do not blame him.  I do not think we have more than five hundred head of cattle on the ranch, and it would be a shame to waste that fine green feed.”  Suddenly the sad and somber mien induced by his recent grief fled his countenance.  He turned to her eagerly.  “Miss Parker, if I have any luck worth while to-day, I think I may win back my ranch.”

“I wish you could win it back, Don Mike.  I think we all wish it.”

“I hope you all do.”  He laughed joyously.  “My dear Miss Parker, this is the open season on terrible practical jokes.  I’m no judge of sheep in bulk, but there must be not less than ten thousand over on that hillside, and if the title to them is vested in Andre Loustalot to-day, it will be vested in me about a month from now.  I shall attach them; they will be sold at pub-lie auction by the sheriff to satisfy in part my father’s old judgment against Loustalot, and I shall bid them in—­cheap.  Nobody in San Marcos County will bid against me, for I can outbid everybody and acquire the sheep without having to put up a cent of capital.  Oh, my dear, thoughtful, vengeful old dad!  Dying, he assigned that judgment to me and had it recorded.  I came across it in his effects last night.

“What are sheep worth, Don Mike?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but I should say that by next fall, those sheep should be worth not less than six dollars a head, including the wool-clip.  They will begin to lamb in February, and by the time your father dispossesses me a year hence, the increase will amount to considerable.  That flock of sheep should be worth about one hundred thousand dollars by the time I have to leave the Palomar, and I know I’m going to collect at least fifty thousand dollars in cash in addition.”

He drew from his vest pocket a check for that sum, signed by Andre Loustalot and drawn in favor of John Parker, Trustee.

“How did you come by that check?” Kay demanded.  “It belongs to my father, so, if you do not mind, Mr. Farrel, I shall retain it and deliver it to my father.”  Quite deliberately, she folded the check and thrust it into her hand-bag.  There was a bright spot of color in each cheek as she faced him, awaiting his explanation.  He favored her with a Latin shrug.

“Your father will not accept the check, Miss Parker.  Loustalot came to the hacienda this morning for the sole purpose of handing him this check, but your father refused to accept it on the plea that the lease he had entered into with Loustalot for the grazing-privilege of the ranch was now null and void.”