Later, as they walked together towards the ranch living-room, Mrs. Daniels said, “That’s sure a purty suit and coat you brought back, Raquel honey. Did you get you a red dress while you were away?” that having been the fondest fancy of Raquel’s childhood. “Yes’m.” Raquel remembered the pink and flame-colored chiffon, an ethereal realization of that red dress of her early dreams, and as different from it as that other world which it brought back for a moment--so far away that already it seemed like a dream. The thought of her school life had been with her constantly on the train, but now it slipped from her mind completely as her father called her out to the veranda to point out how dry the grass was over the mesa at their feet. The sun was setting in a splendor of unbroken crimson that faded through the spectrum into the dark blue of the overhead sky. In the east another spur of mountains glowed like living opals with reflected color. Across the great mesa rolling away from their door stretched an unbroken vista of thirty-five miles. “I’d hoped to ride the range with ye tomorrow, Raquel,” said Mr. Daniels, “but I’m due to sail any minute. Everything’s in good shape but--feed’s scarce. And looks like there’ll be little seed for spring.” Mr. Daniels spoke wistfully. “Seems I’m due along to catch some vessels goin’ straight over, transportin’ cattle. “It’s time to bring down that bunch of cattle up t’ the Ruidoso. They’s five, six, hundred, up there. They should bring a fancy price on all that good grass--seventy-five dollars a head. I cleaned up this fall, sold twenty thousand head for feeders from forty-five dollars to fifty dollars on the hoof, which cleared up every cent we owed on bank stock, and that herd of thoroughbreds I bought last year. Not more’n five thousand left now.” “Where’s all the boys?” asked Raquel. “Oh, I had to let ’em go when Custer and Grant enlisted. They was ’leven of ’em down in the bunk house. Guess you c’n make out with Russell an’ Jami. “Poor Russ had flat feet, bad eyes, boils, an’ what not, which don’t seem to interfere none with his bein’ as good a roper as ever forked saddle leather. And Jami--well even a high instep and a good fittin’ boot didn’t get him past. Underweight, they says, even with shot sewed in his pockets, an’ him the fightinest young catamount an’ the toughest, in these here parts. “Pancho Esquibal, he’s on the commissary same as usual. Hasn’t no use for legal shootin’, Pancho hasn’t, and the draft ain’t drawed him yet. Watch that thievin’ coyote--but I never found his beat for brandin’, saddle work, an’ the like. “An’ Ole Hossfoot stands ready on call to look after my gal. But I guess you don’t need much lookin’ after, Rakie. You’ll about do all the lookin’ after yourself. Girl’s brains’re as good as man’s brains any time, and you been brung up on the runnin’ of the Rancho. They’s nothin’ new to you in the cattle business.”