"And to think that Bob Street never wrote me that Victor Herrick was a neighbor of his--and then wrote pages of stuff about those old Morgans!" said Polly, indignantly. "Why, I've heard the Herricks sing--they were wonderful! Men haven't any sense." "Oh, well, he likes the Morgans. She's a jolly kind of woman, invites a fellow to dinner and feeds him up, you know," said Jimmy, seriously. "They're real folks, the Morgans are, and Herrick's a sort of a nut, don't you see?" He threw open the door of the office abruptly. "Here's the office, where the manager sits with his feet on the desk while the rest of us work." Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly. "Hullo, Jimmy," he said, with a grin. "Do you know whether Johnson's gone yet? Well, go over and tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan's and tell her that the young lady got here safely; I can't get Conejo on the wire." "Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!" said the girl, eagerly. "She meant to be awfully kind but she was worried to death about those children. I was too tired to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get away from Conejo." "You're not the first person who's been struck that way," grinned Adams, as he left the office. "Hard tells me he has been talking to you about Juan Pachuca," said Scott, smiling. "Well, you wouldn't, so I had to ask somebody else," replied Polly. "I'm interested in him." "So I noticed. Can't you pick out something a little more like home-folks to be interested in? Remember the fellow who tried to bring up the tiger cub?" "What happened to him?" Polly smiled up into Scott's face. There was something about Scotty that appealed to you even when you were actively engaged in disliking him. "It grew up and bit him." "Oh, and Juan Pachuca seemed so nice and friendly. But I suppose a tiger cub feels soft and furry when it isn't scratching or biting." "Exactly. You can't tell about these fellows down here. Maybe Pachuca would have brought you over here safe and sound, and maybe he would have taken the south fork of the road down yonder and carried you off to his ranch to hold for a ransom." "Oh," said Polly, faintly, "what a dreadful country!" "Well, it's no place for tenderfeet. That's what I'm always telling our neighbor--Herrick, over at Casa Grande. Bob ever write you about him?" "Bob never writes me about anything--except Emma," said the girl. "But Mr. Adams has been telling me about him. Does he live there all alone?" "No, he's got a Chinese boy to cook for him and a lot of greasers working on the place, but no white men around." "I wish I could meet him." "You can. I'll drive you over there any time you say." Polly's face hardened. "I won't bother you," she said. "I don't know how long I'll stay here. I want to telegraph Bob." "I told Johnson to wire him from Conejo," said Scott, a bit coolly on his side. "He may bring the return message back with him to-night."