Stephen rode beside Señor Hernandez, speaking only in short sentences, to answer or ask some question. The leather of the saddles, beneath the sun, was burning hot. After four hours of riding, just as the sun was beginning to drop behind the foothills, they saw before them in the desert a large patch of green, as vivid as if painted upon the ground, fresh and succulent, amidst the desolation of the plain. “My alfalfa crop!” exclaimed the Señor, pointing with pride. “We have irrigated. Much water. Big crop. _He aqui la casa_—there, behind the alfalfa.” Stephen saw rise, as if by magic, a long one-story structure of adobe, so much the color of the earth as to have been till now almost indistinguishable. Beside the house was a large brush corral. So perfectly was all blended with the landscape, that not until they were very near did Loring appreciate the great size of the building. At the corral they dismounted and unsaddled. “Better carry the saddles up to the house!” said Loring to the men, who had hung them over the corral bars. So, carrying their guns and saddles, they all walked up to the house. Here they were received by the ranchman’s wife, a striking Spanish beauty. “It is Señora Hernandez,” said the Mexican, with justifiable pride. The Señora showed the men the rooms where they were to sleep. Stephen, as commander, was given the largest room. Pepita was very well pleased with the appearance of the defender whom her husband had selected, for in spite of his flannel shirt and dusty boots, Loring was not bad to look upon. In a few moments, Stephen re-entered the main room. The Señora was there, leaning against one of the easements. The scarf that was thrown over her head added to her charms, and lent a subtlety to her dark beauty. As Stephen walked across the room toward her, he admired her greatly. “By George! She is a beauty,” he exclaimed under his breath. Then answered a voice within him: “Yes, but at thirty, she will be fat, oh, very fat.” As the Señora turned to greet him, the first voice made answer: “Yes, but it will be at least twelve years before she is thirty.” CHAPTER XI While Stephen was talking with the Señora, a gong in an inner room clanged. “It is the time for our evening meal, Señor,” she said, with a pretty little Spanish accent. After Loring had perjured his soul by swearing that he was loath to change his occupation for the pleasure of eating, she smiled at him mockingly, and led the way into the dining-room. The Hernandez ranch was the largest in the Los Andes region, and the house was furnished and decorated in an elaborate manner. The walls of the dining-room were hung with gay pictures, and the table, set for supper, boasted several pieces of silver.