Steven had indeed not been seen about the streets of the Villa. He had kept close to his rooms, tossing with a fever ever since the night of the fire and fight, guarded by the good Doña Katarina much more effectually and comfortably than by the jailer. Some infection, Doña Katarina swore, from the filthy _carcel_; probably the water he was given to drink there, for he had been ill within a week afterward. He was surprised, on the afternoon after his return from Taos, to receive a visit from Don Tiburcio. “I regret very much,” said that gentleman, earnestly, “that our business together should have been the cause of your having spent so uncomfortable a twenty-four hours. I have just come from Don Anabel Lopez and have explained the nature of the letter which you sent back East and also of the message which you brought to me. I am sure that, as a man of his word, he will cause you no more trouble on that score.” Steven was glad of that. He felt, indeed, that he would be unable to cause any one else any trouble for a time himself. He was sick, wretched, and a part of his wretchedness was caused by the thought of having failed to meet Consuelo the night before. And she had helped him to escape. He did not like to owe that to a girl. His head would surely stop whirling so dizzily by evening and he would go to Consuelo’s house; get some word to her. But Doña Katarina came in and put him back on his bed, where he stayed unromantically put for a week, slightly out of his head, caring little about intrigue of any sort for the weakness and nausea that held him. But his hardy youth was not to be disposed of by whatever lurking illness had poisoned him. When he was able to sit up again and gaze with some slight degree of enthusiasm at a bowl of chicken soup, Don Tiburcio, who had come to his room every day, came in and sat down rather wearily. The seasoned _caballero_ seemed rather depressed, but he was more friendly, more confiding, than he had ever been. “My young friend,” said he, “I am leaving Santa Fe tonight. I trust that fate may again bring us together. I am your debtor and I would gladly discharge the debt.” They parted with sincere regret, and Steven determined that it must be because of Consuelo that Don Tiburcio was leaving. Three nights later Doña Katarina came in when Steven was sitting in a chair, bearing fresh news. Señor Bragdon had gone off prospecting with the boy, in spite of his daughter’s protests. Señorita Bragdon was nearly crazy. The Yanqui said he needed the boy to drive the mule, and it would do him good. Doña Katarina was all fury and sympathy. “That is pretty bad,” agreed Steven, seriously. “Which way did he go? Does anyone know?”