quire by contact with traders and "such as drive eight mules."
There seemed to be magic in the clapping of the mayordomo's hands which produced surprising results. He clapped a second Mexican youth out of somewhere, who departed on the run, to return in incredibly short time and deliver a panted, quick-spoken communication at the mayordomo's door.
Don Felipe turned Henderson over to this boy, who conducted him to the kitchen of the mansion, where an Indian woman who came and went as silently as a shadow served him a satisfying meal of cold meat and vegetables, bread, claret, and cheese.
The sun had set; the dusk, which settles almost immediately thereafter in southern California winter days, was softening the scars and canyons of the hills when Henderson rose from this cheering repast and thanked the slim, dark woman who had served his needs. She smiled, understanding the spirit of it if not the words. The youth, who had waited outside the door meanwhile, rose now and guided Henderson to the adventure that closed that day.
This was nothing more thrilling than the disclosure of the sleeping quarters the mayordomo had ordered prepared for the stranger while he refreshed himself in the kitchen. A bed had been spread for him on a generous heap of hay in a little room behind the mayordomo's office. This appeared to be a room given over to the carriage
