Pap lived just outside the village in an _adobe_ built upon a small hill to the north-west of our ranch. No garden surrounded it, no pleasant live oaks spread their shade between the porch and the big barns. Pap could sit on his porch and survey his domain stretching for leagues in front of him, but he never did sit down in the daytime-- except on a saddle--and at night he went to bed early to save the expense of oil. Knowing his habits, we rode up to the _adobe_ about eight. All was dark, and we could see, just below us, the twinkling lights of Paradise. After thundering at the door twice, Pap appeared, carrying a lantern. In answer to his first question, we told him that we had business to discuss. Muttering to himself, he led us into the house and lighted two candles in the parlour. We had never entered the parlour before, and accordingly looked about with interest and curiosity. The furniture, which had belonged to Pap's father-in- law, a Spanish-Californian, was of mahogany and horsehair, very good and substantial. In a bookcase were some ancient tomes bound in musty leather. A strange-looking piano, with a high back, covered with faded rose-coloured silk, stood in a corner. Some half a dozen daguerreotypes, a case of stuffed humming-birds, and a wreath of flowers embellished the walls. Upon everything lay the fine white dust of the dry year, which lay also thick upon many hearts. "Sit ye down," said Pap. "I reckon ye've come up to ask for a loan?" "Yes," said Ajax. "But first I wish to beg your pardon. I had no right to speak as I did in the store this evening. I'm sorry." Pap nodded indifferently. "'Twas good advice," he muttered. "I ain't skeered o' much, but diptheery gives me cold feet. I calc'late to skin out o' this and into the mountains to-morrer. How about this yere loan?" "It's not for us," said I. "I don't lend no good dollars on squatters' claims," said Pap. "Let's git to business." We explained what we wanted. Upon the top of Pap's head the sparse grey hairs bristled ominously. His teeth clicked; his eyes snapped. He was furiously angry--as I had expected him to be. "You've a nerve," he jerked out. "You boys come up here askin' me fer a thousand dollars. What air you goin' to do?" "We've no money," said Ajax, "but we've leisure. I dare say we may dig graves." "You're two crazy fools." "We know that, Mr. Spooner." "I'm a-goin' to tell ye something. Diptheery in this yere country is worse'n small-pox--and I've seen both." The look of horror came again into his face. "My wife an' my child died o' diptheery nearly thirty- five year ago." He shuddered. Then he pointed a trembling finger at one of the daguerreotypes. "There she is--a beauty! And before she died--oh, Heaven!" I thought I saw something in his eyes, something human. Ajax burst out---- "Mr. Spooner, because of that, won't you help these poor people?"