"Buy what you want to, honey," said he. "Tear her wide open. I'm good for it." "How much can I draw?" she asked, smiling. "As much as you want to," he replied with emphasis. "Take care"--she poised before him with the check book extended--"I may draw--I might draw fifty thousand dollars." "Not out of Goodrich," he grinned; "you'd bust the game. But hold him up for the limit, anyway." He chuckled aloud, pleased at the rare, bird-like coquetry of the woman. They drove to Willets. It took them two days to go and two days to return. Estrella went through the town in a cyclone burst of enthusiasm, saw everything, bought everything, exhausted everything in two hours. Willets was not a large place. On her return to the ranch she sat down at once in the rocking-chair on the veranda. Her hands fell into her lap. She stared out over the desert. Senor Johnson stole up behind her, clumsy as a playful bear. His eyes followed the direction of hers to where a cloud shadow lay across the slope, heavy, palpable, untransparent, like a blotch of ink. "Pretty, isn't it, honey?" said he. "Glad to get back?" She smiled at him her vacant, slow smile. "Here's my check book," she said; "put it away for me. I'm through with it." "I'll put it in my desk," said he. "It's in the left-hand cubbyhole," he called from inside. "Very well," she replied. He stood in the doorway, looking fondly at her unconscious shoulders and the pose of her blonde head thrown back against the high rocking-chair. "That's the sort of a woman, after all," said Senor Johnson. "No blame fuss about her." CHAPTER EIGHT THE ROUND-UP This, as you well may gather, was in the summer routine. Now the time of the great fall round-up drew near. The home ranch began to bustle in preparation. All through Cochise County were short mountain ranges set down, apparently at random, like a child's blocks. In and out between them flowed the broad, plain-like valleys. On the valleys were the various ranges, great or small, controlled by the different individuals of the Cattlemen's Association. During the year an unimportant, but certain, shifting of stock took place. A few cattle of Senor Johnson's Lazy Y eluded the vigilance of his riders to drift over through the Grant Pass and into the ranges of his neighbour; equally, many of the neighbour's steers watered daily at Senor Johnson's troughs. It was a matter of courtesy to permit this, but one of the reasons for the fall round-up was a redistribution to the proper ranges. Each cattle-owner sent an outfit to the scene of labour. The combined outfits moved slowly from one valley to another, cutting out the strays, branding the late calves, collecting for the owner of that particular range all his stock, that he might select his marketable beef. In turn each cattleman was host to his neighbours and their men.