"Then propose something practicable," said Mathews.

"I think what has been proposed is practicable enough," Darrell said.

"Certainly it is," Mr. Mechlin added.

"I don't see it," said Mathews.

"Nor I, either," added Gasbang.

"Nor I, neither," said Hughes.

"Well, gentlemen," said Don Mariano, rising, "I shall leave you now; you know my views, and you perhaps prefer to discuss them, and discuss your own among yourselves, and not in my presence. Take your time, and when you come to a final decision let me know. Perhaps I can advance the money to those of you who do not have it ready to purchase fencing lumber. I shall charge no interest, and give you plenty of time to pay."

"I will do that, Senor Alamar," Clarence said; "if the settlers agree to fence their lands, I will advance the money to them to put up their fences."

"Yes, and if our crops fail, we will be in debt to the ears, with a chain around our necks," Mathews growled.

"I thought you said that if it were not for my cattle, your crops would not have failed," said Don Mariano, smiling.

"I said so, and it is so. But you see, that was before we had the '_no fence_' law," answered he, grinning.

Don Mariano shook hands with Clarence, whom he invited to call at his house-this invitation Clarence accepted with warm thanks-and followed by his sons and his friend Mr. Mechlin, Don Mariano took his leave, bowing to the settlers, who nodded and grinned in return.

"I suppose you, too, think the '_no fence_' law iniquitous, as you appear to favor the aristocracy," said Gasbang to Clarence.

"It is worse than that, it is stupid. Now it kills the cattle, afterwards it will kill the county," Clarence answered.

"Shall we plant no wheat, because the Spaniards want to raise cattle?"

Mathews asked.

"Plant wheat, if you can do so without killing cattle. But do not destroy the larger industry with the smaller. If, as the Don very properly says, this is a grazing county, no legislation can change it.

So it would be wiser to make laws to suit the county, and not expect that the county will change its character to suit absurd laws," Clarence replied.

CHAPTER VI.-_Naughty Dog Milord an Important Factor._

Three large wagons, each drawn by six horses, were hauling the lumber for Mr. Darrell's house, which was already commenced.

Victoriano, riding across the valley, had to stop to let the heavily loaded wagons pass. This gave Clarence time to overtake him.

"Good morning," said he, "I am glad to catch up with you, Don Victoriano. I have been wanting to speak to you."

Victoriano bowed, saying, "Will you go to my house?"

"No, I'd rather not. I am not dressed to be seen by ladies. I would rather speak to you here."

"You are going to build a large house, Mr. Darrell?" said Victoriano, turning his horse so as to ride beside Clarence; "judging by the amount of lumber being hauled."

"Yes; rather. We are a large family, and require a good deal of room.

But before we do any more work I want to speak with your father. I want to ask him-ask him as a favor-and yet, as a business proposition"-he hesitated; he was evidently embarrassed; but Victoriano, not guessing the drift of his words, remained waiting silently, offering no assistance. "Well," he continued, "I mean this: I don't like this fashion of taking people's lands, and I would like to pay to Senor Alamar for what has been located by us, but at the same time I do not wish my father to know that I have paid for the land, as I am sure he would take my action as a reproach-as a disclaimer of his own action, and I don't wish to hurt his feelings, or seem to be disrespectful or censorious."

"I understand, and I think my father will be willing to sell the land.

He is at home now. Let us go up to see him."

"Had you not better speak to him, and make an appointment for me to see him to-morrow, or some other time? I'd rather not risk being seen by the ladies in this blue flannel shirt and heavy boots. I look too rough-like a smuggler or a squatter, sure."

"I can call my father to speak to you outside, so that the ladies need not see you. But if they should, that needn't disturb you. They have too much sense not to know that you would not be working in white kid gloves. Come on. The front veranda is empty. Mother and three of my sisters are at the Mechlin's. Mercedes is the only one at home, and she is too busy with her embroidery in Madam Halier's room to come near you.

I'll bring father to the front veranda."

Clarence and Victoriano tied their horses by the garden gate and walked to the piazza. The hall door was ajar. Clarence saw no ladies about and felt reassured.

There were three steps leading from the walk through the garden up to the front veranda. These steps were exactly opposite to the hall door.

Victoriano took the path to the right, saying: "Go up and sit down. I'll bring my father here."

"Do not disturb him if he is taking his _siesta_."

"The _siesta_ hour is past, I'll find him at the office," said he, going round the corner, leaving Clarence to walk up the front step. As he did so, he heard a tinkling of little bells and rushing of feet, as if somebody was running. Then a laughing voice, the timbre of which was sweetly pleasing, saying:

"Stop, Milord! you bad dog! Milord! Milord!"

At the same moment, through the narrow opening of the door, out darted a little white dog, dragging after him a large and much entangled skein of bright-colored silk. Clarence was nearly stepping on the little runaway, when the door was flung open, and a girl rushed out, coming against him before she could check herself. In her effort to do so she turned her foot and staggered forward, but before she realized she was in any one's presence, she felt two strong arms holding her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as a sharp, hot pain darted through her ankle. She saw that the two arms which held her were none of her father or brothers', and that they were covered with blue flannel.

Looking up to see the face above them, their eyes met. Hers expressed surprise, his merriment. But a change in their expression flashed instantaneously, and both felt each other tremble, thrilled with the bliss of their proximity. Her face was suffused with burning blushes.

She was bewildered, and without daring to meet his eyes again, stammered an apology; extending her hand, to reach some chair or table to hold herself, but they all were crowded at both ends of the piazza.

"You are hurt. I am afraid you are hurt," said he, with pale lips, reflecting the pallor he saw come to her face, succeeding her crimson blush. "I know you are suffering. What can I do? I am so sorry!"

"O no, I only turned my foot a little," she answered, venturing to look at him for an instant. "I shall be all right in a minute."

"If you turned your foot, don't put any weight upon it. Do not try to walk, let me carry you to a chair."

"O no, no! I am not so much hurt as to require giving all that trouble."

"_Please_ let me. It will be no trouble; only a great pleasure." He was in earnest and spoke quite seriously. "Are you afraid I could not carry you?"

"No, not that, but it is not necessary," and she tried to walk. A quick, sharp, burning pain through her ankle admonished her that she was more hurt than she had believed. A slight contraction of her brows betrayed her pain.

"There! You will hurt yourself worse," said he, and before she knew what he was going to do, he stooped a little and lifted her as easily as if she had been a little child. She had no time to think whether to be grateful or offended, for he quickly walked to the further end of the piazza and carefully placed her in a roomy arm chair. Then bending a knee before her, said:

"Forgive my lifting you without your permission. I knew you would not give it, and I knew also that you were suffering. Will you forgive me?"

His voice was soft, caressing, pleading, but his eyes seemed to her to emit rays full of attractive, earnest force which she felt had great power. They dazzled her, and yet those eyes were so mild, so kind. She looked down, making no answer. "When Don Victoriano comes he can carry you to bed, and-please-take my advice, stay there until the pain has entirely left your foot."

She ventured to look at his eyes again. Who could this strong young man be, so bold, and yet so gentle, so courteous and yet waiting for no permission to take so positively hold of her, to carry her bodily half the length of the piazza. And now so respectfully asking on his knees to be forgiven? Asking with tones of tender humility in his voice, while his eyes she knew could emanate subduing magnetic beams.