"'My Lord,

"'This is to tell you that in spite of everything you could do to destroy me, I'm safe in this free country, and doing well. I've heard of the horrible crime you committed in driving the poor people from your estate in Ireland, from homes which we and our fathers have loved for a thousand years. Now I call the holy saints to witness that I will do to you as you have done to me, and to my people. The time will come when, driven from this your new home, without a roof to cover you, or a crust to eat, your wife and boy turned out to die in the desert, you will plead for even so much as a drink, and it will be thrown in your face. I shall not die until I have seen the end of your accursed house.

"'(Sd.)          George Ryan.'

"These Britishers," said Bryant, "is mostly of two breeds—the lords and the flunkeys; and you kin judge them by the ways they act. This Mr. Balshannon is a lord, and thish yer Ryan's a flunk. If a real man feels that his enemy is some superfluous on this earth, he don't make lamentations and post 'em up on a door. No, he tracks his enemy to a meeting; he makes his declaration of war, and when the other gentleman is good and ready, they lets loose with their guns in battle. This Ryan here has the morals of a snake and the right hand of a coward."

"Do I give this paper," said I, "to Mr. Balshannon?"

"It's his business, lad, not ours. But until this lord is well enough to fight, you stands on guard."

CHAPTER III

HOLY CROSS

Editor's Note.—The walls of Holy Cross rise stark from the top of a hill on the naked desert; and in all the enormous length and breadth of this old fortress there is no door or window to invite attack. At each of the four corners stands a bastion tower to command the flanks, and in the north wall low towers defend the entrance, which is a tunnel through the buildings, barred by massive doors, and commanded by loopholes for riflemen. The house is built of sun-dried bricks, the ceilings of heavy beams supporting a flat roof of earth.

As one enters the first courtyard one sees that the buildings on the right are divided up into a number of little houses for the riders and their families; in front is the gate of the stable court, on the left are the chapel and the dining-hall, and in the middle of the square there is a well. Through the dining-hall on the left one enters the little court with its pool covered with water-lilies, shaded by palm trees, and surrounded by an arcade which is covered by creeping plants, ablaze with flowers. The private rooms open upon this cloister, big, cool, and dark, forming a little palace within the fortress walls. Such is the old Hacienda Santa Cruz which Lord Balshannon had bought from El Señor Don Luis Barrios.

From the beginning I saw no sign and smelt no whiff of danger either of Apaches or of Mr. Ryan. When Balshannon was able to ride I gave him Ryan's letter, watched him read it quietly, but got nary word from him. He looked up from the letter, smiling at my glum face.

"Chalkeye," said he, "couldn't we snare a rabbit for Jim to play with?" He and the kid and me used to play together like babies, and Jim was surely serious with us men for being too young.

In those days Balshannon took advice from Bryant, our nearest neighbour, whose ranche was only one day's ride from Holy Cross. Dick helped him to buy good cattle to stock our range, and two thoroughbred English bulls to improve the breed. Then he bought ponies, and hired Mexican riders. So I began to tell my boss and his little son about cows and ponies—the range-riding, driving, and holding of stock; the roping, branding, and cutting out; how to judge grass, to find water, to track, scout, and get meat for the camp. The boss was too old and set in his ways to learn new play, but Jim had his heart in the business from the first, growing up to cow-punching as though he were born on the range.

Besides that I had to learn them both the natural history of us cowboys, the which is surprising to strangers, and some prickly. Being thoroughbred stock, this British lord and his son didn't need to put on side, or make themselves out to be better than common folks like me.

After the first year, when things were settled down and the weather cool, Lady Balshannon came to Holy Cross, and lived in the garden court under the palm trees. She was a poor invalid lady, enjoying very bad health, specially when we had visitors or any noise in the house. She never could stand up straight against the heat of the desert. On the range I was teacher to Jim; but in the house this lady made the kid and me come to school for education. We used to race neck and neck over our sums and grammar of an evening. I guess I was the most willing, but the kid had much the best brains. He beat me anyways.

Sometimes I got restless, sniffing up wind for trouble, riding around crazy all night because I was too peaceful and dull to need any sleep. But then the boss wanted me in his business, the lady needed me for lessons and to do odd jobs, the kid needed me to play with and to teach him the life of the stock range; so when I got "Pacific Ocean fever" they all made such a howl that I had to stay. Stopping at Holy Cross grew from a taste into a habit, and you only know the strength of a habit when you try to kill it. That family had a string round my hind leg which ain't broken yet.

The boss made me foreman over his Mexican cowboys, and major-domo in charge of Holy Cross. In the house I was treated like a son, with my own quarters, servants, and horses, and my wages were paid to me in ponies until there were three hundred head marked with my private brand. Some people with bad hearts and forked tongues have claimed that I stole these horses over in Mexico. I treat such with dignified silence and make no comment except to remark that they are liars. Anyway, as the years rolled on, and the business grew, Mr. Chalkeye Davies became a big chief on the range in Arizona.

When the kid was fourteen years old he quit working cows with me, and went to college. Balshannon missed him some, for he took to straying then, and would go off in the fall of the year for a bear-hunt, in the winter to stay with friends, and the rest of the time would hang around Grave City. I reckon the desert air made him thirsty, because he drank more than was wise, and the need for excitement set him playing cards, so that he lost a pile of money bucking against the faro game and monte. He left me in charge of his business, to round up his calves for branding, and his beef for sale, to keep the accounts, to pay myself and my riders, and ride guard for his lady while she prayed for his soul, alone at Holy Cross. When Jim wanted money at college he wrote to me. In all that time we were not attacked by Indians, Ryans, or any other vermin.

Upon the level roof of Holy Cross there was space enough to handle cavalry, and a wide outlook across the desert. There we had lie-down chairs, rugs, and cushions; and after dinner, when the day's work was done, we would sit watching the sunset, the red afterglow, the rich of night come up in the east, the big stars wheeling slowly until it was sleep-time. But when the boy was at college, and the boss away from home, there was only Lady Balshannon and me to share the long evenings.

"Billy," she said once, for she never would call me Chalkeye, "Billy, do you know that I'm dying?"

"Yes, mum, and me too, but I don't reckon to swim a river till I reach the brink."

"My feet are in the waters, Billy, now."

"I wouldn't hurry, mum. It may be heaven beyond, or it may be—disappointing."

"You dear boy," she laughed; "I want to tell you a story."

I lit a cigarette, and lay down at the rugs at her feet. "I can bear it, mum."

She lay back in her