“Why don’t you follow her example?” asked Paloma.  “We have plenty of land.”

Blaze, in truth, was embarrassed by the size of his holdings, but he shook his head.  “No, I’m too old to go rampagin’ after new gods.  I ’ain’t got the imagination to raise anything more complicated than a mortgage; but if I was younger, I’d organize myself up and do away with that Ed Austin.  I’d sure help him to an untimely end, and then I’d marry them pecan-groves, and blooded herds, and drug-store orchards.  She certainly is a heart-breakin’ device, with her red hair and red lips and—­”

“Father!” Paloma was deeply shocked.

Complete isolation, of course, Alaire had found to be impossible, even though her ranch lay far from the traveled roads and her Mexican guards were not encouraging to visitors.  Business inevitably brought her into contact with a considerable number of people, and of these the one she saw most frequently was Judge Ellsworth of Brownsville, her attorney.

It was perhaps a week after Ed had left for San Antonio that Alaire felt the need of Ellsworth’s counsel, and sent for him.  He responded promptly, as always.  Ellsworth was a kindly man of fifty-five, with a forceful chin and a drooping, heavy-lidded eye that could either blaze or twinkle.  He was fond of Alaire, and his sympathy, like his understanding, was of that wordless yet comprehensive kind which is most satisfying.  Judge Ellsworth knew more than any four men in that part of Texas; information had a way of seeking him out, and his head was stored to repletion with facts of every variety.  He was a good lawyer, too, and yet his knowledge of the law comprised but a small part of that mental wealth upon which he prided himself.  He knew human nature, and that he considered far more important than law.  His mind was like a full granary, and every grain lay where he could put his hand upon it.

He motored out from Brownsville, and, after ridding himself of dust, insisted upon spending the interval before dinner in an inspection of Alaire’s latest ranch improvements.  He had a fatherly way of walking with his arm about Alaire’s shoulders, and although she sometimes suspected that his warmth of good-fellowship was merely a habit cultivated through political necessities, nevertheless it was comforting, and she took it at its face value.

Not until the dinner was over did Ellsworth inquire the reason for his summons.

“It’s about La Feria.  General Longorio has confiscated my stock,” Alaire told him.

Ellsworth started.  “Longorio!  That’s bad.”

“Yes.  One of my riders just brought the news.  I was afraid of this very thing, and so I was preparing to bring the stock over, Still--I never thought they’d actually confiscate it.”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

Alaire interrogated the speaker silently.

“Hasn’t Ed done enough to provoke confiscation?” asked the Judge.