“Tom,” said Uncle Lance, as we strolled away from the grove, “we are up against the real thing now. I know young Oxenford, and he’s a dangerous fellow to have for a rival, if he really is one. You can’t tell much about a Yankee, though, for he’s usually egotistical enough to think that every girl in the country is breaking her neck to win him. The worst of it is, this young fellow is rich—he’s got dead oodles of money and he’s making more every hour out of his mail contracts. One good thing is, we understand the situation, and all’s fair in love and war. You can see, though, that Mrs. Martin has dealt herself a hand in the game. By the dough on her fingers she proposes to have a fist in the pie. Well, now, son, we’ll give them a run for their money or break a tug in the effort. Tom, just you play to my lead to-day and we’ll see who holds the high cards or knows best how to play them. If I can cut him off, that’ll be your chance to sail in and do a little close-herding yourself.” We loitered along the river bank until the oration was concluded, my employer giving me quite an interesting account of my rival. It seems that young Oxenford belonged to a family then notoriously prominent in politics. He had inherited quite a sum of money, and, through the influence of his congressional uncle, had been fortunate enough to form a partnership with Bethel, a man who knew all the ropes in mail contracting. The senior member of the firm knew how to shake the tree, while the financial resources of the junior member and the political influence of his uncle made him a valuable man in gathering the plums on their large field of star route contracts. Had not exposure interrupted, they were due to have made a large fortune out of the government. On our return to the picnic grounds, the assembly was dispersing for luncheon. Miss Jean had ably provided for the occasion, and on reaching our ambulance on the outer edge of the grove, Tiburcio had coffee all ready and the boys from the home ranch began to straggle in for dinner. Miss Jean had prevailed on Tony Hunter and his wife, who had come down on horseback from the San Miguel, to take luncheon with us, and from the hearty greetings which Uncle Lance extended to the guests of his sister, I could see that the owner and mistress of Las Palomas were diplomatically dividing the house of McLeod. I followed suit, making myself agreeable to Mrs. Hunter, who was but very few years the elder of Esther. Having spent a couple of nights at their ranch, and feeling a certain comradeship with her husband, I decided before dinner was over that I had a friend and ally in Tony’s wife. There was something romantic about the young matron, as any one could see, and since the sisters favored each other in many ways, I had hopes that Esther might not overvalue Jack Oxenford’s money.