"Well," said Idy, dropping her hands at her sides, and looking at him in admiring bewilderment, "if you ain't just-- Have you had anythin' to eat?" she broke off, with sudden hospitality. "Oh yes, thank you; I had dinner at Elsmore," laughed the young man, backing out into the shadow. "Good-night." Half a minute later she followed him down the walk, carrying a heavy blanket over her arm. He had led his horse to the water-trough, and the moonlight shone full upon him as he stood with one arm thrown over the glossy creature's neck. "I brought you this here blanket, Mr.--" "Barden," supplied the young man, carelessly. Idy sank back against the corral fence as if she were stunned. "Barden!" she repeated helplessly. "Is your name Barden?" "Yes." She stood breathless a moment, and then burst out:-- "An' you're him! _you_--an' doin' this way, after the way you've done--an' him sick--an' me talkin' to ye--an'--an'--everything!" The two torrents of hate and gratitude had met, and were whirling her about wildly. The young man pushed his hat back on his head, and stared at her in sturdy, unflinching amazement. "My dear young lady, what on earth do you mean?" he asked quietly. "I mean that I didn't know that you was _him_--the man that sold my father this place, an' lied to him about the vineyard--told him they was raisin-grapes, an' they wasn't--an' you knowed he was a temp'rance man, a prohibitionist. An' him tryin' to grub 'em out, an' gettin' sick--an' bein' so patient, an' never hurtin' nobody--" she ended in a wild, angry sob that seemed to swallow up her voice. "Miss Starkweather," said the young fellow steadily, "I certainly did sell this place to your father, and if I told him anything about the vineyard I most certainly told him they were raisin-grapes; and upon my soul I thought they _were_. Aren't they?" "No," sobbed Idy, "they ain't; they're wine-grapes! He was grubbin' 'em out to-day. That's what hurt 'im--I'm afraid he'll die!" "You mustn't be afraid of that. Dr. Patterson says he will get better. But we must see that he doesn't do any more grubbing. When Slater gave me this for sale," he went on, as if he were reflecting aloud, "he said there were ten acres of vineyard. I can't swear that he told me what the vines were, or that I asked him. But it never occurred to me that any man--even an Englishman--would plant ten acres of wine-grapes when there wasn't a winery within fifty miles of him." VI. Parker Lowe borrowed one of Mose Doolittle's mules Monday evening, and rode from Temecula to Jake Levison's saloon at Maravilla. It was understood when he left the thresher's camp that he would probably "make a night of it," and Mose gave him a word of friendly warning and advice. "You want to remember, Park, that the old man is down on the flowing bowl; an' from what I've heard of the family I think it'll pay you to keep yourself solid with the old man."