Indian strain in his blood--a strain which accounts for much that sets
American and Mexican apart, unconsciously in his case gave a tinge of
cruelty to his anticipation. Aspiring himself to pass as an American,
it never failed to please him when he could slight or humiliate an
American; and he lacked his father's restraint of impulses, as he came
short of his sagacity and perseverance. Indeed, secretly the son
believed his father too conservative, too cautious, too old-fashioned
and slow; and at times was exceedingly impatient with methods that he
was confident he could immensely improve.

His father considered him for a time.

"Charlie, you leave this matter alone," he said. "You keep out of it.
Whatever's to be done, I'll do. You would go too far. You can give
your attention to seeing that the crops are watered and the hay cut on
time; you should be down at Rosita now looking after things."

"I'll run down in the car this evening," was the answer. "To-morrow
I'm going to Kennard, where I haven't been for two weeks. The wool in
the warehouse there should be sold, and a buyer from Boston wrote, you
know, that he would be there this week. And I think we can get our
price."

Kennard was the nearest railroad point and forty miles south. It was a
pleasant little city, with some of the attractions of larger places.
Of these Charlie was thinking rather than of the wool. He would attend
to the wool business, of course, but it was an excuse instead of a
reason for the projected visit on the morrow.

"Very well, it's time the wool is sold; the price is good at present,"