Mrs. Featherstone went home to San Francisco the next day, thoroughly out of temper with her niece and heartily willing to wash her hands of her. She told her, at parting, that she had missed the one golden and handsome opportunity of her life which was far beyond her deserts, and that she would never have another such and it served her right; she sincerely hoped she would marry ’Rome Ojeda and have seven wild children, all born with spurs on. It sounded like the laying on of a robust old-fashioned curse. Ginger let Estrada drive her aunt in to town to take her train. She was very tired of being berated; she didn’t want to talk about Dean Wolcott any more and she didn’t want to think about him any more. She went steadily about the business of Dos Pozos in the days that followed; old Manuela wiped her eyes furtively and burned three candles to the saint of the impossible, and Estrada was gravely regretful. “I miss very much that young _señor_,” he said to his silent mistress. “That is a very fine gentleman, _Señorita_.” There were many inquiries for him at first among her rancher neighbors, but after she had said--“He has gone. No, he is not coming back,” to a few of them, the word went over the whole vicinity; they stopped asking for him, and they were immensely cordial and approving in their manner to Ginger. ’Rome Ojeda showed less restraint; he was openly triumphant about it. “Snappy work,” he said to Ginger, with his flashing grin. “I guess maybe we didn’t show him up, between us, me’n Snort! Say, I’m a-goin’ to get that hawse a medal! He sure did spill the Boston beans!” Ginger listened to him at first without comment, but she said, presently, “’Rome, he was Aleck’s friend; I’m never going to forget that.” “Lord,” said ’Rome Ojeda, comfortably, “I guess a feller’d bunk in with ’most anybody, over there.” But he stopped talking about Dean Wolcott and he did not immediately urge his own claims. There was something about Ginger, about her looks and her voice, that he didn’t quite understand. He told himself that he’d better just let things loaf along, “as was,” for the present. * * * * * Dr. Gurney Mayfield made a detour to take in Dos Pozos on his motor trip next month. He was greatly surprised and disappointed not to find his young friend, Dean Wolcott. “Well, well,” he said, regretfully, “so Dean had to go home, did he? Well, I expect he had to get back to business. How was he feeling?” “He seemed to be feeling all right,” said Ginger briefly.