Everett found Lucy in Jane's room. Both were sewing by the window he wanted. He squeezed himself into a seat between his sisters, saying:

“Girls, I want to hear. Hush! Listen!”

Voices were heard below. All listened. As Webster was coming down stairs he saw John Gasbang going out at the other end of the parlor, pushing a large arm-chair out upon the porch. He heard them laughing at some of Gasbang's coarse, vulgar jokes, and then all sat down. After some desultory talk, Mathews, evidently anxious to begin at what they had to state, said:

“I am afraid, neighbor Darrell, that somebody has been fooling you and laughing at you, or if not, then the thing will look as if you yourself had been fooling us and laughing at us. This we can hardly believe.”

“We don't believe at all,” Hughes explained, seeing Darrell's brow darken.

Jane's window was possessed of most favorable acoustic qualities. Every word could be distinctly heard.

“I don't understand you,” says Darrell, gruffly. “I am not given to joking or laughing much, and I never knew that anybody dared to laugh at me.”

“Precisely!” Hughes exclaimed, bowing deferentially.

“Did you ever give us to understand that this land you occupy you had bought and paid for?” Mathews asked.

“No. I said to the Don I would pay when the title is settled; that's all. You all heard that.”

“But you never paid him any money?”

“Not a red cent. But see here, what do you mean by coming here to catechise me? You don't know William Darrell, if you think you can set a trap for him in this way. I tell you he would kick your trap to the old ‘Nick’ in two minutes,” Darrell said, getting white with anger.

“I know it,” Gasbang said, shaking with laughter.

“Stop your nonsense,” Darrell said to him; then to Mathews, “Speak out like a man—what is it all about?”

“That we are told that it is recorded that you paid six thousand four hundred dollars to the Don for six hundred and forty acres of land,” Miller explained.

“When did I do that?” Darrell asked, with increasing pallor, the sight of which his interlocutor did not relish.

“On the 13th day of February, 1872,” Gasbang replied.

“Who saw the record?”

“I did. I saw the entry made by the notary.”

“Well, the notary lies, that's all.”

“He couldn't. He could be prosecuted for it,” Miller said.

“Very well, he shall be; for it is a lie that I bought any such land or paid any such price for it.”

“Perhaps the Don had the entry made,” Hughes suggested.

“Then the Don lied, and I'll tell him so,” Darrell retorted.

“Are you sure that Mr. Clarence did not buy the land unbeknown to you?” Mathews asked.

“What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to say that my own son would put me in such a ridiculous position? No, I think it is more likely that, as Hughes says, the Don had the false entry made on the strength of my having promised to pay him for the land I would take. But I'll teach him that I am not to be dragged into a bargain like that.”

“What would the Don gain by that? Nothing. No, if you will not be offended, I'll tell you what I heard is the most likely theory of it all,” Gasbang began.

“And who in the devil has been building theories on my affairs? I'd like to see the fellow who does that,” thundered Darrell.

“It was my lawyer, who casually discovered that entry in the notary's books, and told me of it. He meant no harm,” Gasbang explained, with conciliatory amiability.

“Of course, he meant no harm. Lawyers of the Peter Roper stamp never do. When they go sticking their noses into people's business, they do so casually. And your lawyer—Mr. Roper, I suppose—being a very innocent and straightforward and honorable, high-toned man, who never gets drunk, he did not mean any harm, and accidentally, purely so, made this discovery, and no danger of his having been too drunk to read straight, either. Look here, John, don't you talk to me as if you thought me idiotic, for I am not. But what is this innocent theory of this unsophisticated, honorable Peter Roper? Let us see.”

“Well, he thinks that Mr. Clarence being in love with the Don's daughter, probably bought the land to propitiate the family, and dated back the deed of sale,” Gasbang said.

Darrell was silent, but shook his head.

“You see, the Don could have had no object in putting on record that he had received six thousand four hundred dollars, unless he did so,” said Miller.

“So you think he received the money?” Darrell asked.

“No doubt of it,” all the others answered.

“There he goes now,” said Hughes, and all could see the Don riding towards home, accompanied by his two sons. Behind them the vaqueros were driving a lot of cattle towards the “corral” at the back of the house.

Seeing the cattle, Darrell said: “By the way, these cattle now belong to Clarence. He bought every head on this rancho belonging to the Don, and will drive them to the Colorado River as soon as the weather cools off. So I hope that if any stray cows or calves come up to your places you will corral them and send me word. I ask this of all of you, as a favor to me, not to Clarence.”

“Certainly! certainly!” said Hughes, Miller and Gasbang.

“Will it be too much trouble to do that?” Darrell asked Mathews, who had remained silent.

He was compelled to reply: “Of course not—not for you.”

“Well, you see, I ask only what the law gives.”

“I know that.”

“And Clarence knows that if his cattle go to your fields you must corral them and give him notice. And now I want to go and speak with the Don.”

All arose.

Hughes said: “As we all wish to know more about that land sale, we will come back this evening to hear what the Don says.”

“Very well. I am going to ask all he knows about it.”

“He knows everything, the greaser!” Mathews growled.

“But you think Clarence paid the money?” asked Darrell.

“Of course he did, to get the girl,” laughed Gasbang; then added: “It was all a put-up job, and they kept the secret well, so we never smelled the rat, while they laughed at us. But I don't care so long as you, Mr. Darrell, wasn't in it.”

“So says I,” added Miller.

“And I,” said Hughes, and they drove off, laughing.

Darrell remained standing on the front steps. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists as he heard the laughter from the wagon, which sounded louder as the wagon went further away. He walked to the stable and took a heavy whip, one of those which teamsters call “black snakes,” which are used to drive mules with. The old man trembled with suppressed anger, so much that he could not fasten on his spurs, and this only increased the more his senseless rage.

Everett was scarcely less angry or less pale. He was waiting for his father to start, to follow him. Webster came up-stairs and said to him:

“Retty, father means mischief. He has a ‘black snake,’ and trembles with rage as if he had the ague.”

“Poor father, how unfortunate it is that he got into such a wrong train of reasoning,” Jane said.

“He is bound to keep wrong as long as he permits such men to influence him. I am ashamed of father,” Lucy added.

“No, don't say that,” Jane begged.

“But I am,” Lucy maintained; “very much ashamed.”

“And I also—bitterly ashamed,” Everett said.

The old gentleman at last succeeded in fastening his spurs and getting on his horse. He trotted off to meet the Don. Everett and Webster went down stairs. Webster had saddled two horses; he was not going to let Everett go alone, when he might need help. So the two boys followed their father at a short distance.

Lucy and Jane went to Clarence's room, from which they had a better view of that part of the valley through which passed the main road, in front of the Alamar house. They saw their father take the main road. The Don was coming slowly with his two sons, watching the vaqueros driving the cattle up the hill.

“Mamma, see father going to meet the Don. What does he mean?” exclaimed Alice, alarmed.

Mrs. Darrell went to the window, and both sat there to watch proceedings.

Two or three head of cattle got separated, and Gabriel turned back at a few paces to head them off. Don Mariano and Victoriano kept on, and soon after met Darrell.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Darrell,” said Don Mariano, pleasantly. “You see we are Clarence's vaqueros now.”

Darrell muttered something gruffly, and stopped his horse in the middle of the road. The others did the same. Don Mariano saw that Darrell was very angry, and waited for him to speak first.

The enraged man gasped twice, but no sound came. On the third effort his harsh tones said:

“I want you to tell me what is all this trickery and lies about my having paid you six thousand four hundred dollars for land. You know that to be a lie.”

“Of course I do. You never paid me a cent, nor the other settlers either. No settler wants to pay, and I never said you had, or expected they would, for I know they believe themselves authorized by law to appropriate my property.”

“Didn't Clarence pay you for the land I took?”

“Look here, Mr. Darrell, business matters between Clarence and myself are not to be mentioned, and unless he authorizes me to speak I cannot repeat anything which he wishes to keep quiet.”

“Then you have some private business together.”

Don Mariano bowed, but did not speak. Darrell came closer to the Don, and shaking at him the fist in which he held the whip, said:

“Then I tell you, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to be bargaining with my son in a clandestine manner, fooling me, and making me appear ridiculous. But I tell you to your face—for I am not a sneaking coward—I tell you, that you have acted most dishonorably, inveigling Clarence into bargains unbeknown to me, inducing him, with seductive bribes, to act most dishonorably towards me.”

“What were those bribes?” Don Mariano asked.

“What were they? Your daughter's pretty looks, by G—!”

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Everett, turning very pale.

“Pshaw! That is too low,” the Don said, turning his horse towards his house.

Darrell spurred his and stood in the way.

“Too low, you say? And isn't it low to act as you have? And now you want to sneak off like a coward, and not give me any satisfaction.”

“I am ready to give you any satisfaction you want, but demand it like a gentleman. I am no Peter Roper, or Gasbang, or Billy Mathews, to have a tumble-down fist-fight in the dirt with you. If you forget your dignity, I do not,” the Don replied, again trying to go towards his house.

Darrell again placed his horse in front to intercept his road, and said, livid with rage:

“And why didn't you think of your dignity when you paraded your daughter (like a pretty filly for sale) before my son, to get his money! Damn you! can't I make you fight? Won't you be insulted, you coward? I'll publish your cowardice all over California.”

So saying, he lifted his whip and struck a severe blow at the Don. Quickly, at the same instant, Victoriano and Everett had dashed their horses between, and the blow fell right upon the backs of the two young men.

This act of devotion was scarcely necessary, for as Darrell lifted his whip, and before it fell down, Don Mariano touched his horse with one spur only, giving a quick touch to the reins to one side. The horse jumped aside, sat on his haunches for an instant, half-crouching, half-rearing, and in a second he was up again. Don Mariano smiled at Darrell's clumsy horsemanship, conscious of being able to ride him down and all around him before the belligerent squatter could tell what was happening. Still smiling, the Don rode slowly away. Darrell followed close, and again lifted his whip to strike, but instantaneously he felt as if he had been struck by lightning, or as if an aerolite had fallen upon him. His arm fell powerless by his side, and an iron hoop seemed to encircle him. He looked down to his breast surprised, and there the coil of a reata held him in an iron grip, and he could not move. He looked about him amazed, and saw that the other end of the reata was neatly wound around the pommel of Gabriel's saddle, and that young gentleman sat quietly on his horse, as if waiting Mr. Darrell's orders to move, his handsome face a little pale, but quite composed.

“Go home and bring me my pistols, Webster. I'll fix this brood of greasers,” said Darrell, half choked with rage and the tight embrace of the reata.

Webster hesitated, and looked towards his brother for advice. Everett winked, and Webster understood at once that Everett meant that he should go, but bring no pistols. He galloped off towards home.

The horse that Darrell was riding was the mate of the one that Webster rode, so that when he saw his partner go off towards home, he thought he must do the same, and followed. As the reins hung loosely upon his neck, he naturally supposed that he was to follow at the pace his companion went, so he started at a gallop to catch up with Webster.

Thus now began a most ridiculous steeple-chase going home. Darrell could not check his horse or do anything but hold to the pommel of his saddle, his arms being pinioned to his body. Gabriel, fearing to let go the reata, which, if loosened, might entangle the horse, and thus pull the old man off his saddle, followed, maintaining the reata at an even, gentle tension, carefully keeping at the same distance. Victoriano and Everett saw nothing to do but follow, trying to get near Darrell to catch him in case he should lose his balance going over the rough ground of the plowed field.

The two Indian vaqueros after putting their cattle in the corral, came down to inquire for further orders, and seeing the race going on, they thought they could join in, too. So, putting spurs to their horses, they began to run and shout in high glee. Noticing that the patron, Don Gabriel, held a reata in his hands, the lazo end of which was attached to Darrell, they thought that for sport Don Gabriel had thrown the lazo on the old squatter. Having come to this conclusion, they began to shout and hurrah with renewed vigor.

“Apa! viejo escuata Ó cabestreas Ó te Órcas,” cried one.

“No le afloje patroncito Gabriel,” said the other.

Now the ground being very rough, Darrell began to sway, as if losing his balance.

“ApriÉtate viejo! apriÉtate mÍralo! ya se ladea!” cried again one vaquero.

“Creo que el viejo escuata va chispo,” said the other.

“Que es eso? A que vienen acÁ? Quien los convida? CÁllense la boca, no sean malcreados, Vallense!” said Victoriano, turning to them in great indignation.

This rebuke and imperative order silenced them immediately, and not understanding why these gentlemen were having all that fun, and did not laugh, nor wished any one else to laugh, quietly turned and went home.

Darrell's horse now came to a hollow made by the old bed of a brook where the road passed diagonally. To gallop down hill was too much equestrianism for the pinioned rider; he began again to topple to one side. Quick as a flash Victoriano darted forward, and grasping the bridle with one hand, caught with the other the body of Darrell, which having entirely lost balance, was toppling over like a log.

Gabriel immediately gathering the reata quickly in successive loops, all of which he hung on the pommel of his saddle, came to Darrell's side.

“I'll take that lazo off, Mr. Darrell, if you permit me,” said Gabriel, very quietly, when Victoriano had straightened him on the saddle, and he had again a perpendicular position.

“Yes, damn you, and you'll pay for it, too!” was Darrell's courteous reply.

“Very well, but don't be abusive. Use better language; and if you want to fight I'll accommodate you whenever you wish, with any weapons, except the tongue,” Gabriel answered.

“I suppose you think a lazo is a very genteel weapon. It is good enough for cowardly, treacherous greasers,” said the irate Darrell, eager to be as insulting as possible.

“And to subdue wild cattle,” Gabriel added. “I threw my lazo on you to keep you from striking my father. He was unarmed, and you made a brutal attack upon him with a heavy mule whip. I would lazo you again fifty times, or any other man, under the same circumstances. If you think it was cowardly to do so, I will prove to you at any time that I was not prompted by cowardice. Victoriano, loosen the reata off Mr. Darrell's arms.”

Victoriano dismounted, and endeavored to loosen the tight noose, but it was so firmly drawn that he could not move it. Everett came to his assistance, but he, too, failed.

“I cannot loosen the noose without hurting Mr. Darrell,” said Victoriano, giving up the task.

Gabriel dismounted, and examined the noose carefully. He shook his head, saying:

“No, sir; we cannot loosen that reata while you are sitting down. We will have to put you on your feet, Mr. Darrell, and you will be slimmer then. Thus by collapsing a little the loop will lose the tension that keeps it tight.”

“Come on, Mr. Darrell, Retty and I will let you down nicely,” said Victoriano.

“Lean on me, father,” said Everett, but as he held up his arms towards his father, he became convulsed with laughter. Victoriano was laughing, too, so heartily, that Darrell was afraid to trust his weight into their hands.

“For shame, Victoriano, to be so discourteous,” said Gabriel, reprovingly—his handsome features perfectly serious.

But Victoriano had suppressed his desire to laugh too long, and now his risibility was beyond control. Everett was overcome in the same manner, so that he hung on Victoriano's shoulder, shaking with ill-suppressed laughter.

“Mr. Darrell, be not afraid to trust to my strength, I am slender, but I am stronger than I look. Lean your weight on me slowly, and I'll take you off your horse while those boys laugh,” Gabriel said, putting up his hands for Darrell to lean on them.

“I think we had better go home first,” he said.

“No, sir. It will be painful for Mrs. Darrell to see you as you are, and then you ought to have that reata off now, quickly. It will sicken you.”

“Yes, I feel a very strange sort of cold feeling.”

Gabriel was afraid that impeded circulation might make the old man faint, so he said:

“Come, Mr. Darrell, quick.”

He slipped off one stirrup, then quickly went around slipped off the other, and pulled Darrell to him gently. Down like a felled tree came the old fighter, almost bearing Gabriel down to the ground. Everett and Victoriano, checking their laughter somewhat, lent their assistance to hold him up, and as he had begun to look bluish, they saw the necessity of establishing the old man's circulation. While Everett and Victoriano held him up, Gabriel loosened the coil, rubbing briskly and hard the benumbed arms to start circulation by friction, moving them up and down.

“Can you get on your horse now?” Gabriel asked, after Darrell had moved his arms several times.

“Yes, I think I can,” he said, looking towards his house. A new shadow passed over his face.

Webster was coming back, leading his horse. Would he bring pistols? No. His mother was walking with him. Mrs. Darrell saluted the Alamares, and they lifted their hats respectfully in response. Webster had told her all that had happened, and she understood everything, excepting the steeple-chase performance. She had seen all running behind her husband, but she did not know that the chase was most involuntary on his part. Seeing them stop for so long a time in the hollow she thought he had fallen.

“What is the matter, William? Did you fall?”

“No. And if I had, you couldn't pick me up. What did you come out here for?” was the characteristic answer.

“Because, not seeing you when down in this hollow I feared you were hurt, but since it is only foolish anger that ails you, I need not waste my sympathy,” she said in her sweet, low voice—which Clarence insisted always was like Mercedes' voice, having that same musical vibration, so pleasing to the ear and sure to go straight to the heart.

“Mrs. Darrell, allow me to assure you that all this trouble came most unexpectedly to us. We don't know what caused it, but no matter what the cause may be, I certainly could do nothing else than prevent anybody from striking my father,” Gabriel said.

“Certainly, Don Gabriel, you did your duty. I do not blame you—no one of you—at all. Express my regrets to your father, please. I am grieved to the heart about this,” she said, and there was a sad note in her tones, which plainly told that her expressions of regret were but too true.

“I will tell my father what you say, and let us hope that the cause of all this misunderstanding may be explained,” Gabriel replied.

“I hope so,” she said, offering her hand to him, which he took and pressed warmly.

When Darrell saw that friendly demonstration, he turned his back upon all, and muttering that he was “to be made the scape-goat of all,” walked home.

Mrs. Darrell then asked Gabriel to explain everything to her, which he did, while she listened to him very attentively.

“If you only had heard what those squatters said, and prevented father from riding out,” Everett exclaimed.

Mrs. Darrell sighed, shook hands with the Alamares, and, followed by her sons, walked home.