The dropping out of a prince-consort rarely disorganises a monarchy. Queen Santa had appointed as _mayordomo_ [3] of the ranch a trusty subject, named Ramsay, who had been one of her father's faithful vassals. And there was scarcely a ripple on the Nopalito ranch save when the gulf-breeze created undulations in the grass of its wide acres. [FOOTNOTE 3: mayordomo--(Spanish) steward, head of the household staff; also a ranch foreman] For several years the Nopalito had been making experiments with an English breed of cattle that looked down with aristocratic contempt upon the Texas long-horns. The experiments were found satisfactory; and a pasture had been set aside for the blue-bloods. The fame of them had gone forth into the chaparral and pear [4] as far as men ride in saddles. Other ranches woke up, rubbed their eyes, and looked with new dissatisfaction upon the long-horns. [FOOTNOTE 4: pear--prickly-pear cactus, the most common variety of large cactus in Texas, often growing in great clumps] As a consequence, one day a sunburned, capable, silk-kerchiefed nonchalant youth, garnished with revolvers, and attended by three Mexican _vaqueros_, alighted at the Nopalito ranch and presented the following business-like epistle to the queen thereof: Mrs. Yeager--The Nopalito Ranch: Dear Madam: I am instructed by the owners of the Rancho Seco to purchase 100 head of two and three-year-old cows of the Sussex breed owned by you. If you can fill the order please deliver the cattle to the bearer; and a check will be forwarded to you at once. Respectfully, Webster Yeager, Manager the Rancho Seco. Business is business, even--very scantily did it escape being written "especially"--in a kingdom. That night the 100 head of cattle were driven up from the pasture and penned in a corral near the ranch-house for delivery in the morning. When night closed down and the house was still, did Santa Yeager throw herself down, clasping that formal note to her bosom, weeping, and calling out a name that pride (either in one or the other) had kept from her lips many a day? Or did she file the letter, in her business way, retaining her royal balance and strength? Wonder, if you will; but royalty is sacred; and there is a veil. But this much you shall learn: At midnight Santa slipped softly out of the ranch-house, clothed in something dark and plain. She paused for a moment under the live-oak trees. The prairies were somewhat dim, and the moonlight was pale orange, diluted with particles of an impalpable, flying mist. But the mock-bird whistled on every bough of vantage; leagues of flowers scented the air; and a kindergarten of little shadowy rabbits leaped and played in an open space near by. Santa turned her face to the southeast and threw three kisses thitherward; for there was none to see.