“Now, this here Pancho,” he began when the door was closed behind them, “this here Pancho, it’s time to vamoose him. Roundup’s comin’ on, and if he thinks we ain’t on to him he’ll try some more of this cattle brandin’ business and if he does I’m li’ble to fill him full o’ lead. “I recommend that we have a understandin’ with him, now that the little gals is well agin, and that you as Boss of the Lazy L backs me as foreman and ridin’ boss, and fires him.” “Yes,” assented Raquel, dully, “yes. It’s only fair to Dad.” The interview in the saddle shed was not a happy affair. Pancho, suave, confident, plausible, with a trace of insolence, could explain everything. The branding iron had been found on the range the day before, was brought home and, on account of the illness of the _muchachitas_, had been forgotten. That was why he had not mentioned it at the time. “But why not since?” asked Raquel. Esquibal quivered with righteous anger. What! They doubted him? Never before had the word of an Esquibal-- What should a stray branding iron matter? “Nothing much except that practically all of the brands in this part of the country are well known,” Raquel replied, “as you know, and this seems to be a new one. And as you also probably know, it has been used over the Lazy L. In fact, it covers it very nicely.” At that Pancho Esquibal started involuntarily. “You do not mean you suspect me--me--of stealing cattle?” “Forget that stuff, Pancho,” advised Russell coldly. “What proof you got that this isn’t your doin’s?” “What proof have you it is?” Esquibal shot back, while Raquel waved away the discussion with an impatient hand. “_Oiga_, Pancho. It may be as you say. But the matter of the gas you sold does not look very well for you.” It seems that Señor Daniels had told him to sell the gas when any one needed it, and that he could either turn over the money, or have it taken out of his wages. There were the cans. The _Padroncita_ could count up just what had been sold--if she wished to deduct it. Raquel hardly knew what to do. She shared with her family the sentiment for Elena and the children. Pancho was a valuable hand, and it would be difficult to handle the roundup without him. The chances were he’d stay put for a while anyway. “Well, Pancho, I don’t want to be unfair, and we’ll wait till Dad comes home before we carry out that firing sentence. We’ll see what rebranded cattle come to light in the spring roundup.” Esquibal bowed, and without a glance at Russell turned on his heel. “We’d better have turned him off. That’s a snake meaner’n a rattler. He gives no warnin’.” * * * * * “Dear Jimmy,” Raquel started her letter off bravely that night. But after two hours of struggle she folded what she had written and sealed it quickly within an envelope. It had been hard, and she ended by telling him plainly: