adobe, and the care taken to guard against surprise, old Bartolini's
_hacienda_ was an establishment not unlike that of the feudal barons
or a nest of banditti according to the point of view.

At the sound of the fast galloping horses, every man on the ground
sprang to his feet and ran to his horse. For a second only they stood
still and listened intently; then, satisfied that all was well and that
the persons approaching belonged to the rancho, they returned to their
former position by the fountain--all save an Indian servant, who caught
the bridle thrown to him by the young man as he swung himself out of
the saddle. And while this one led his horse noiselessly away, another
of the same race preceded him along a corridor until he came to the
_Maestro's_ room.

Old Ramerrez Bartolini, or Ramerrez, as he was known to his followers,
was dying. His hair, pure white and curly, was still as luxuriant as
when he was a young man. Beneath the curls was a patrician, Spanish
face, straight nose and brilliant, piercing, black eyes. His gigantic
frame lay on a heap of stretched rawhides which raised him a few inches
from the floor. This simple couch was not necessarily an indication of
poverty, though his property had dwindled to almost nothing, for in most
Spanish adobes of that time, even in some dwellings of the very rich,
there were no beds. Over him, as well as under him, were blankets. On
each side of his head, fixed on the wall, two candles were burning, and
almost within reach of his hand there stood a rough altar, with crucifix
and candles, where a padre was making preparations to administer the
Last Sacraments.

In the low-studded room the only evidence remaining of prosperity
were some fragments of rich and costly goods that once had been piled