The road followed an arroyo for a mile, and then emerged on a broad, open space where cattle grazed, thousands of them dotting the pasturage. Sheep were on the hillsides, and to the left were fields of grain. “Is it not a splendid inheritance, Señor Rocha?” Señora Vallejo murmured. “It is, indeed,” he replied, and he showed no great amount of enthusiasm. Señorita Anita frowned. On this rancho she had been born and reared; here she had played as a child, and here the frailes from the mission had come to teach her. In an enclosed space near the ranch-house her mother was buried, and her father. She remembered how her father had laboured through disappointments to triumph to make this a profitable home; how seeds and bulbs had been imported that there might be beauty there; how proud he had been when the flocks and herds grew and new buildings were erected. And now here was his half-heir scarcely giving the place a glance after having manifested such eagerness to reach it. A little lump came into Señorita Anita’s throat, and she would not look at the man who rode beside the carreta, but glanced away toward the distant hills; and a tear trickled down her cheek. Now they had reached the top of the slope, and in the distance the buildings of the rancho could be seen, white against the green background. To one side were long, low adobe structures around which many Indians were gathering. “Too many of the men are inactive,” Señor Lopez growled, anxious for the younger man to think he had the best interests of the rancho at heart. “The overseers are not firm enough in handling them. At this time of the day nearly all should be at work in the fields. It appears that nine-tenths of them are about the buildings.” He continued to frown as they neared the ranch-house, and finally rode ahead at a gallop toward the adobe structures. The Indians did not make a pretence of being busy as he approached. Some glowered at him as he passed, others deliberately turned away as he would have spoken to them in rebuke. He reined in his horse before one of the buildings and glared down at a score of men sitting round the doorway and stretched on the ground. “What means this, dogs?” he demanded. “Why are you not at work?” Not a voice answered him; some glanced up and then away again, while others ignored his existence. “Where are your overseers?” he demanded next. “Where is Antonio, José? Answer, one of you!” “We have seen neither this day, _señor_,” one of the men replied. “Do not talk to me with a crooked tongue! Go to the fields, or I’ll take the whip to you! As for Antonio and José, we’ll see whether they can drink wine and waste time while I am away!” Not an Indian moved to do his bidding. The carreta had stopped before the ranch-house now, and two of the soldiers left it to ride toward Lopez, sensing trouble. “Rojerio Rocha!” Lopez called, but the man he addressed was assisting Señorita Anita from the carreta, and did not answer.