Oh, St. Vrain had told him, and everyone knew of Mercer & Co. of New Orleans. Well, his father would have to be the judge of his business ventures; Steven could only report conditions to him. It was already getting dark, the days were growing shorter, when at last Steven was able to break away. It was with a feeling of relief that he pressed his heels against the mare’s flanks as she raced down the road, past low pines and cedars. Something struck Steven across the chest, knocking his breath clear out of him. He was swept from his mare and fell heavily to the road, his head striking a rock so that consciousness went out with a blaze of starry glory. The mare ran on from sheer momentum, slowing up in a few paces and coming to a standstill; a good little beast. Then she returned and stood patiently for a while beside the form on the road. It did not move, and after a while she trotted along in the direction in which she was turned, back over the road, to the place where she had been tethered before Bragdon’s door, and stood there. Bragdon, seated in the doorway, looked with surprise at the mare, rose, and went over to her. Why, it was Steven Mercer’s horse! Had she run away? Could he have been thrown? At any rate, he would want her back again. Well, let him come and get her. A not too friendly young puppy, anyway. But then, he was the son of a great merchant; and business must be cultivated. Bragdon took the mare’s bridle in his hand and walked along the road. He was rather pleased than not when he came upon Steven, that is, after he had ascertained that the boy’s heart was still beating. He would be putting Steven in his debt. He lifted the inert figure with difficulty into the saddle and, mounting behind, walked the mare back to his casa. He carried the boy in and called Hope. “Some one has it in for him. There was rope tied between trees chest-high across the road; a narrow place between two trees. Guess he never knew what hit him, in the dark and all.” Steven came to himself painfully, with a splitting head, to find a fair, anxious face bending over him. Strange, somehow he had expected a dark, piquante, young person to be there, though he could not imagine why. There was a painfully sprained arm, and Hope was surprising clever at binding it to ease the hurt. They made him a fresh bed in a spare room and Hope and her father helped him in. He was glad to be allowed to lie quietly. A rope stretched across the road, eh? Who could have done it, and was it intended for him? He pondered this the next afternoon as he rode slowly back to his quarters. He was still staying in Colonel St. Vrain’s place, and boarding with Mrs. Trenour’s sister-in-law, a capable and friendly Spanish lady with a handsome past, though she was not yet forty. The señora shook her head when Steven came in. “Why are you staying, señor?” she asked. “You can stay in Taos with Ceran St. Vrain until the traders’ caravan returns next week.”