“Engine smoking, rear tire flat, got to have a shoe. No need in it. Now, Jami,” looking at him severely, “it isn’t as though you hadn’t been through this before, and been warned and respectfully requested.” Which was all too true. Jami, crestfallen, dejectedly started to tote water for the engine now that it was too late. Jami was a good mechanic, but he simply couldn’t be trusted to run the car, Raquel thought, a bit discouraged. And there was no one else but herself now to drive. When she went down with Russ to inspect the garage she found that the lavish supply of oils which had been there when she left for school was almost gone. A couple of spare tires were also missing. Raquel was aghast. “Why, Russ, where--what’s happened to the supply shop?” “Well, ma’am, you know how the old man is. Every one comes along, ocean to ocean tin-tourer, shorthorn sports, grub-line riders, hunters, politicians, friends, give ’em what they want. Sure, stranger, help yourself. An’ then after they’ve filled up on our gas an’ your ma’s cookin’ they’re off. An’ when the ladies have cold-creamed the dust of Los Ranchos off their faces and the hombres have wiped it off their boots, that’s the last of us.” Raquel could not help but laugh at Russell’s rage. “But, Russ, you ought not to fuss that way about strangers eating here. Where else would they eat within fifteen or twenty miles?” “Well, you Westerners is open-handed, but I’m a Yankee, come from Kansas, an’ we don’t believe in scatterin’. Let ’em tank up before they come.” “Well, we’re going to save every penny from now on, and we ship a thousand head March first, remember, or not later than the seventh.” “We’ll need it,” said Russ. “So little seed this year, an’ the quail et up a lot.... I’ve got Angel and Pancho going over all the leather on the place this week, and Jami makin’ the rounds of the windmills. Catamounts and coyotes been pretty bad this year, an’ that angora goat you set such store by, Raquel, a mountain cat got her an’ her summer’s kids--le’s see, last month it was.” “Oh, Russ, she was such a beauty! What did you do with the pelts?” “Well, the kids was sort o’ spoiled, but Angel made a right purty rug for your ma’s sittin’ room o’ the old she. I got near enough lobo skins for a new carriage robe for you, curin’ down back o’ the coolin’ house now.” They went down so that Raquel could see the thick, lustrous pelts, tawny, with flecks of black. “You know,” said Russ, “we been losin’ too many cattle this winter.” He looked ominous. “What do you mean, Russ? Wild animals?” Russ nodded. “An’ more’n that, I’d guess. Last spring I made sure I counted at least two hundred calves over on that plain yonder alone. This fall I can’t see more’n half that. Coyotes didn’t get ’em all.”