“Is this Mr. Winters’s rancho, young man?”

Frank replied that it was.

“He is at home, I suppose?” continued the visitor.

“No, sir; he started for the city early this morning.”

The gentleman said that was very unfortunate, and began to make inquiries concerning the road Mr. Winters generally traveled when he went to San Diego—­whether he took the upper or lower trail—­and then he wondered what he should do.

“My name is Brown,” said he; and Frank knew he was the very man his uncle expected to meet in San Diego.  “I owe Mr. Winters some money for a drove of horses I bought of him before he went to the States, and I have come up to pay it.  I have here twelve thousand dollars in gold,” he added, laying his hand on his saddle-bags, which seemed to be heavy and well filled.

“Couldn’t you remain until day after to-morrow?” asked Frank.  “Uncle James will be at home then.”

“I can’t spare the time.  I am on my way to Fort Yuma, where I have some business to transact that may detain me three or four days.  I don’t like to carry this money there and back, for it is heavy, and there is no knowing what sort of travelers one may meet on the road.  Wouldn’t it be all right if I should leave it here with you?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Frank, eager to accept the responsibility; “I can take care of it.  But I thought you might want a receipt.”

“I am not particular about that.  Mr. Winters has trusted me for about six months, and I think I can afford to trust him for as many days.  I’ll call and get the receipt when I come back.”

As Mr. Brown said this, he dismounted, and Pierre, who, ever since his employer’s departure, had seemed to have nothing to do but to loiter about the house, and who had stood at the opposite side of the court, listening to every word of the conversation, came up to hold his horse.  The visitor shouldered his saddle-bags, and followed Frank into a room which went by the name of “the office,” where Mr. Winters transacted all his business.  The room was furnished with a high desk, a three-legged stool, and a small safe, which, like those in banks, was set into the wall, so that nothing but the door could be seen.

“That is just the place for it,” said Mr. Brown; “it will be secure there.”

“But I haven’t got the key,” replied Frank; “uncle always carries it in his pocket.”

“Well, I don’t suppose there would be any danger if you were to leave the money on the porch.  Of course, your hired people can be depended on, or your uncle wouldn’t keep them.”

Frank thought there was at least one person on the rancho who could not be trusted to any great extent; but, of course, he said nothing about it.  He glanced around the room, wondering what he should do with the money, when he discovered that his uncle had left the key of the desk in the lock.  For want of a better place, Frank decided to put the gold in there.  Mr. Brown took it out of his saddle-bags, and packed it away in the drawer—­six bags in all, each containing two thousand dollars, in bright, new “yellow-boys.”  Then, declining Frank’s invitation to stay to dinner, the gentleman bade him good-by, mounted his horse, and resumed his journey.