help you go. Some day you come back strong and like your father the
big John Corliss. Then I shall be much glad."

"I'll pay it back. I'll do anything--"

But she silenced him, touching his lips with her fingers. "No. The
promise to make is not so hard, but to keep . . . Ah! When you come
back, then you promise; si?"

Not a word of reproof, not a glance or a look of disapproval, yet
Corliss knew that the Señora's heart was heavy with sorrow for him. He
strode to the doorway. Señora Loring followed and called to the
driver. As Corliss shook hands with her, she kissed him.

An anger against himself flushed his cheek. "I don't know which road
I'll take, madre,--after I leave here,--this country. But I shall
always remember . . . And tell Nell . . . that . . ." he hesitated.

The Señora smiled and patted his arm. "Si! I understand."

"And, madre, there is a man--vaquero, or cook, a big man, tall, that
they call Sundown, who works for the Concho. If you see him, please
tell him--that I sent it back." And he gestured toward the table
whereon lay the little canvas sack of gold. "Good-bye!"

He stepped hurriedly from the veranda, climbed to the seat of the
buckboard, and spoke to the driver. For a long time the Señora stood
in the doorway watching the glint of the speeding ponies. Then she
went to her bedroom and knelt before the little crucifix. Her prayer
was, strangely enough, not for Will Corliss. She prayed that the sweet