Señor Hernandez presided at the table with true Latin hospitality, and Stephen, his previous protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, did full justice to the excellent fare, at the same time keeping up a lively conversation with the Señora. The men with him ate vigorously, the only break in their steady eating being caused by glances at the pretty Mexican girl who served the meal. After supper, Stephen and the Señor went outside, and walked about the ranch, studying the possibilities of defense in case of trouble. At Stephen’s suggestion, they led the horses from the corral, and picketed them behind the house, as the first thought of any marauders would undoubtedly be to raid the corral. Like most adobe houses, the ranch house consisted of a main building, with two wings running at right angles, thus enclosing three sides of a court. All the windows of the ground floor had iron shutters, fastening on the inside. The ground about the building was as flat as a board, and was broken only by the lines of the irrigation ditches which ran amidst the alfalfa fields. “If we station a man to watch upon the roof,” said Stephen, as they returned to the house, “it will be all the precaution that we need to take. On a clear night such as this, a man can see far in every direction.” “It will be well,” answered the Señor. “And, this door here, it is a heavy one. It will be hard to break down.” “I don’t believe that it will come to that,” laughed Stephen. “I don’t believe that we shall have any trouble at all.” “I pray not,” answered Señor Hernandez. His was not a nature which was exhilarated by prospective danger. When they re-entered the main room, Stephen glanced quickly from the Señora to her husband. “It is strange,” he said to himself, “how a little swarthy man like that could have won such a beauty for a wife. I suppose, though, that if she really loves him, she does not care if his ears are a bit like an elephant’s, his eyes too close together, and his nose as thin as a razor.” The husband of a pretty woman is not likely to have his charms exaggerated by other men. They spent the evening smoking and talking. The Señora rolled cigarettes with the greatest deftness, and the smile with which she administered the final little pat did much to enhance the taste of the tobacco. At ten o’clock the Señora rose, and after calling the servant to light the men to their rooms, bade them good night. It had been agreed that Stephen should stand the first watch. He insisted that the Señor, tired as he was from two sleepless nights of worry, should not share his vigil. Having exchanged his carbine for one of his host’s Winchesters, Loring mounted the ladder that ran from the hallway of the second story to the roof. It was a perfect night. The heavens were glittering with stars, and all was silent. Not a breath of air came from across the desert to cool the copings, which were still warm from the day’s heat.