The _ranchito_ they had gone to? La Bolsa, they had called it, he thought. Raquel pushed one of the oil cans with the toe of her boot. “What does your papa use these for, Panchito?” “Oh, those are just the empty cans. He has sold already the oil,” Panchito answered innocently. “Since the gate below the Alamos was closed there come by our house many automovil-es.” Raquel walked back to the big house thoughtfully. Pancho Esquibal was a bad hombre all right. And going off like that without a word. He always had an excuse. And there was nothing to do but shrug the shoulders at the institution of a Latin-American family and the demands of relatives upon the time of first, second and third cousins. But this business of the oil--no wonder they couldn’t keep oil! What else was Pancho selling? Passing by the bunk house, where Angel was sweeping out with a tender regard for the broom, she called to him to saddle the Alezan mare. The horse was a quivering, high-strung creature which Raquel herself had cured of fright and which she would let no one but herself or Jami ride. Jami was hard on a car but easy on a critter. Raquel swung quickly into the saddle. It was a pretty thing to watch her mount. There were times when she simply vaulted in, her feet seeming to find the stirrup leathers by instinct. But now she did not wish to startle the Alezan. Left hand grasping the reins smoothly at the base of the horse’s neck, left foot thrust under the stirrup hood, she made a quick upward flight of her slim body, feet together, until the right foot swung quicker than the eye over the saddle--it never seemed to sprawl over the horse’s flank. She rode with a somewhat shorter stirrup than a good Panhandler usually does, and didn’t lean back for a lope or a slow trot. This morning the mare was off like the wind, down the road leading to the pass. Beyond the arroyo Raquel turned back to the right, and followed the road that led past the cottonwood grove, round which ran a fork that joined the main road again beyond the Alamos. The inner road had always been closed with a gate, but now a new gate closed the main road, and the inner road, which led past Pancho’s house, was open. Cars would have to go this way now, and the detour could not be seen from the big house. “Easy way to make a little money.” Raquel was angry as she loped back. “But I wouldn’t have thought it of Elena.” Pancho would never have been hired at Los Ranchos had it not been for Elena. When she married, Dad took Esquibal on because of her, rather than because he was an expert cowpuncher and brander. Well, selling oil could be settled easily enough. But what else was Pancho Esquibal up to?