Dick knew in his heart that the era of transformation had at last come, that the roaming herds were to be pushed back into regions more remote, that homes and schoolhouses and garden cities would soon be dotting the landscape, that the passing of Ben Thurston, the cattle king, and of his hard-riding, devil-may-care vaqueros was at hand.
Yet Thurston spoke no word – in fact, he seemed to be more grouchy and taciturn than ever. Not even his son Marshall was in his confidence, for the young man was seldom with his father, preferring to spend his time in the drinking saloons and dance halls of Bakersfield, where the activity of oil-developing operations attracted all sorts and conditions of men, among whom the dissipated decadent had readily found friends to his liking.
Ben Thurston who had gone the pace himself in his early days, did not seek to interfere with his son’s pursuit of pleasures, but he had very promptly squelched any interference from Marshall with his own business operations. On the evening of the quarrel with Dick Willoughby at the round-up, Marshall had attempted to tell his father about the affair and suggest Dick’s dismissal. But the old man had at once silenced him by saying: “Why, damn you! I brought you out to this country to enjoy yourself and not to get into trouble. So far as Willoughby is concerned, I can’t afford to quarrel with him. He is my foreman, and I am right in the midst of a big business transaction. So just you mind your own business, my boy, and leave him alone.”
Accordingly, Marshall Thurston, a coward at heart, had not sought to pursue the feud singlehanded, and Dick had seen but little of him during the rest of the mustering work. When they did happen to meet, it was a case of a black scowl of hate from the one and a contemptuous smile of indifference from the other. And so the days had passed until the task was finished.
It was the Sunday morning that had been fixed for the visit to the home of Mr. Ricardo Robles, when the cattle foreman could at last conscientiously take a day of recreation. With the first break of dawn he and Munson were in the saddle, for they had been invited to breakfast at La Siesta before starting with the young ladies on the ride through the oak forest.
The visitors arrived early, but not too early for their hostesses. Grace and Merle were waiting to welcome them in the portico, looking more charming than ever in their neat riding suits of khaki.
“We saw you cross the bridge,” declared Grace, “and mother has gone in to order breakfast to be served. You must be hungry after your early start.”
“Oh, Sing Ling didn’t let us go without a cup of coffee,” laughed Dick. “But I fancy we’ll do full justice, all right, to the bountiful fare of La Siesta.”
It proved to be a delightful meal in every way, the viands seasoned with gay repartee and laughter. A full hour had sped before Dick recalled the real object of the day’s excursion.
“We usually walk to Mr. Robles’ place,” remarked Merle. “It is only a mile or so by the short cuts up the hill, but by the winding road it is very much longer. So we ordered our ponies.”
“I see,” smiled Munson, “to prolong the pleasure of our foursome among the oaks.”
“Not at all, sir,” retorted Grace. “The climb on foot is a stiff one, and we knew that you must be out of condition from the lazy life you are living.”
“I am only waiting for Willoughby to give me a cowboy’s job,” replied the ex-lieutenant.
“I don’t know if there will be any cowboy jobs going,” observed Willoughby. “It’s my belief that San Antonio Rancho is sold and is going to be broken up into small holdings.”
“Oh, what a pity!” exclaimed Merle.
“From one point of view, perhaps,” answered Dick. “But from a hundred other points of view, what a blessing! There will be a dozen happy homes for every steer the range now feeds!”
“But La Siesta will remain just as it is,” cried Grace.
“That will be all right,” replied Dick, gallantly, “It’s already a happy home.”
The ladies smiled pleasantly.
“Then this will mean the elimination of Mr. Ben Thurston,” observed Mrs. Darlington.
“The greatest blessing of all,” declared Merle, clapping her hands. “You see, I am already converted to the change, Mr. Willoughby,” she added merrily.
“But what about my job?” asked Munson in mock dolefulness.
“Consult Mr. Robles,” laughed Grace. “He may take pity on you, and find you a place as handy man on his estate.”
In merry mood they all sallied forth. The saddle horses were waiting, and standing beside them was an elderly Spanish woman.
“Tia Teresa, Mr. Munson,” said Mrs. Darlington by way of introduction.
Munson had often enough heard the name, and in answer to an inquiry, Willoughby had told him that the old dame had been the personal attendant of the two young ladies ever since they could remember. Tia or Aunt Teresa was now more a friend of the family than a servant of the house, and, taking her hand in salutation, Munson treated her with the affable courtesy that was her due.
“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” he said, raising his hat.
Tia Teresa looked pleased. Despite her seventy years, she was a buxom and splendidly preserved woman, and there was still the flash of youthfulness in her big dark eyes.
“You will look after my little girls,” she said, as she gathered together the folds of her black lace mantilla. “By rights I should be coming with you, too,” she added, in the manner of a true Spanish duenna.
“You forget that we are home again – in free America,” laughed Merle as she settled herself in the saddle.
“Too free, I sometimes think,” rejoined Tia Teresa. “But there is safety in four,” she added, turning with a smile to Mrs. Darlington.
And as the young folks rode away she waved them a pleasant adios.
CHAPTER X – The Home of the Recluse
AT a gentle pace they wound their way through the forest of magnificent old oaks.
As for Munson, riding by Grace Darlington’s side, the miles were the shortest he had ever before traversed. It seemed only a few minutes before the red tiled roof and towers of a house built in the California Mission style were gleaming through the trees only a short distance ahead.
Great oaken doors closed the arched gateway, but at the clatter of hoofs and the sound of voices, a little peep-hole wicket was withdrawn. The inspection by unseen eyes apparently was satisfactory, for a moment later a postern was opened, and two men, Mexicans obviously by their garb and deferential manner, emerged to take and lead away the horses. Within the patio stood Senor Robles, his usually grave face lighted by a smile of cordial welcome.
“Let me tell you, young men,” he said while shaking hands, “that while Grace and Merle are quite at home here, you are the very first strangers who have passed through my portals.”
“Strangers no longer then,” said Dick, good-naturedly.
“Precisely,”