‘I like these people,’ Bart was saying, about the Mexicans. ‘I get along with ’em pretty well, but they don’t savvy the horse. It doesn’t seem to run in the blood. Monte Vallejo who had all Sonora thinking he was a caballero--even to Monte, a horse was something to ride to death. All these people saw and hack and ride on the bit. That’s what got us into trouble with those race-horses, and that’s what got to me from you, the first minute in front of el cuartel--to see a white man sitting a horse and knowing what he was doing and what her mouth was made of.’ ‘Your father told me all about Mamie,’ Elbert said. ‘All the telling in the world wouldn’t do it, if a man didn’t have the feel of a bridle-rein on his own hook.’ It was like being called to the carpet to be presented with a diploma or a medal--no time for Elbert to trust his voice to relate that Mamie was practically his first experience, and that only a few months ago. ‘How was it that the race-horses got you into trouble?’ he asked. ‘We couldn’t manage ’em. They were used to being babied for the track--used to the sprint; didn’t know anything about saving themselves for distance-running. There was a lot of young stuff among them, and all our old cayuses were done for. We tried hammering the bang-tails to the road, and they went crazy.... I drew the prize of the lot. All old Mallet-head knows is to eat and run--so long as you keep the spur off him!’ ‘He keeps his feelings to himself, so they can’t be hurt. He’s sure rugged,’ said Elbert. Sometimes Bart seemed to be listening for a step as they talked; and when the señorita appeared in the doorway, Bart’s eyes and hers would meet and cling for a second. There began to be a secret heaviness connected with this for Elbert. What would happen to her when Bart left the little room of the cross and the white flower?... So much taller she seemed, than in that first moment in the dobe gateway. Had he seen her then as now, he might not have asked her help. Perhaps, even if he had not heard the song of the corn-dust maiden, he could never have thought of imposing as he did that morning upon Valencia Vidaña, the daughter of El Relicario, now a dobe ruin of many rooms, but in its day one of the famous ranch-houses of Sonora. ‘Great name in these parts in the old days,’ Bart once whispered. ‘Valencia’s father was one of the big men of Sonora under Diaz, but everything’s broken down since. Loot and confiscation’s the trick here--worst of all from Juan Cordano. We happened in the right house. The old don told me the other morning, he had hoped to see Monte Vallejo in Cordano’s place here in Sonora.’ Long talks concerning all that led to Elbert’s coming to Sonora. Bart’s deep laugh once sounded in the little room. ‘I’m used to Mexicans,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about the States. I s’pose there are a lot of people up there you can trust offhand, like Dad trusted you.’