As he came closer, she saw that he walked with his chin on his breast; when he reached the gate at the end of the avenue, he did not see it and bumped into it. "_Dios mio_!" she heard him mutter. "_Dios! Dios! Dios!_" The last word ended in tragic crescendo; he leaned on the gate, and there, in the white silence, the last of the Farrels stood gazing up the avenue as if he feared to enter. Kay sat on the oak trunk, staring at him, fascinated by the tragic tableau. Suddenly, from the hacienda, a hound gave tongue--a long, bell-like baying, with a timbre in it that never creeps into a hound's voice until he has struck a warm scent. Another hound took up the cry--and still another. Don Mike started. "That's Nip!" Kay heard him murmur, as the first hound sounded. "Now, Mollie! Come now, Nailer! Where's Hunter? Hunter's dead! You've scented me!" Across the mesa, the pack came bellowing, scattering the wet leaves among the oaks as they took the short cut to the returning master. Into the avenue they swept; the leader leaped for the top of the gate, poised there an instant, and fell over into Don Mike's arms. The others followed, overwhelming him. They licked his hands; they soiled him with their reaching paws, the while their cries of welcome testified to their delight. Presently, one grew jealous of the other in the mad scramble for his caressing hand, and Nip bit Mollie, who retaliated by biting Nailer, who promptly bit Nip, thus completing the vicious circle. In an instant, they were battling each other. "Stop it!" Don Mike commanded. "Break!" They "broke" at his command, and, forgetting their animosities, began running in circles, in a hopeless effort to express their happiness. Suddenly, as if by common impulse, they appeared to remember a neglected duty, and fled noisily whence they had come. "Ah, only my dogs to welcome me!" Kay heard Don Mike murmur. And then the stubborn tears came and blinded him, so he did not see her white figure step out into the avenue and come swiftly toward him. The first he knew of her presence was when her hand touched his glistening black head bent on his arms over the top rail of the gate. "No, no, Don Mike," he heard a sweet voice protesting; "somebody else cares, too. We wouldn't be human if we didn't. Please--please try not to feel so badly about it." He raised his haggard face. "Ah, yes--you!" he cried. "You--you've been waiting here--for me?" "Yes. I wanted to tell you--to explain before you got to the house. We didn't know, you see--and the notice was so terribly short; but we'll go in the morning. I've saved dinner for you, Don Mike--and your old room is ready for you. Oh, you don't know how sorry I am for you, you poor man!" He hid his face again. "Don't--please!" he cried, in a choked voice. "I can't stand sympathy--to-night--from you!" She laid a hand on his shoulder.