added Donald.

The peon’s manner underwent a remarkable change.

“Perhaps the señora has a few tortillas,” he said. “I’ll go and see.”

He turned and quickly entered the house, returning in a minute to say that there were both tortillas—corn

cakes—and beans, and inviting the boys to alight.

“There is no room in my casa,” he said, “but, if the young señores will be satisfied to go into the kitchen, I will make a fire and the señora will get them something to eat.”

The boys needed no second bidding, and, quickly dismounting, they threw their bridle-reins over some cactus growing about, and went inside.

“I’d rather eat out of doors,” declared Billie, after looking the place over.

“So would I,” said Adrian, “if it were not for the rain.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” ventured Donald philosophically, “I’ve seen worse places than this. Do you remember the Zunis?”

“It was always dry there,” declared Billie.

“Yes, and there were always plenty of snakes,” laughed Adrian, who never had forgotten Billie’s aversion to reptiles since his visit to the snake dancers.

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the peon’s wife, who proceeded to make a fire in the Mexican range, as the boys called the few bricks set up on edge. From a little earthen dish she produced a few thin corn cakes, which she toasted over the fire. When they were properly done, she put them on a dish and poured over them

a couple of spoonfuls of black beans. These she offered to the boys to eat.

Billie looked at it askance.

“I thought I was glad to eat a woman’s cooking at Presidio last night,” he said. “If this is a sample of Mexican women’s cooking, I’d rather get my own meals.”

However, they were all hungry, and the beans and tortillas soon disappeared.

“How much are you going to pay him for this, Don?” queried Adrian. “You said you would pay him well.”

“I don’t know. Do you think fifty cents is enough?”

“Try him and see.”

Donald took a silver half dollar from his pocket and held it out toward the man, who had been watching the boys in silence. He looked stupidly at it, but made no move to take it.

“Don’t you want it?” asked Donald.

“No, señor; it is too much.”

“How much do you want?”

“A real is plenty.”

A real is worth in American money about seven cents.

“Oh, take it,” urged Donald in Spanish, “although I think a real is all it’s worth,” he added in English, which the peon could not understand.

Thus urged the man took the coin and bowed low

with many expressions of thanks. The coin also seemed to have loosened his tongue, and he urged the boys to make themselves perfectly at home.

“My poor house is yours,” he declared, “as long as you will honor it with your presence. I will go and give your horses some straw.”

Suiting the action to the word, he hastily left the hut, and, looking through the door, the boys saw him leading the animals to a little corral a short distance from the kitchen.

The rain continued to descend almost in sheets.

“This must be the way it rained in the days of Noah,” Billie suggested.

“Yes,” replied Adrian, “and it looks as though it might continue for forty days. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What had we better do?” asked Billie, thinking about the ride back to Presidio.

“What can we do?” echoed Donald. “We never could find our way back to the Rio Grande in this rain, and, if we did, we would find it so full of water we couldn’t get across. The only thing we can do is to stay right here till it stops raining.”

And stay they did.

The afternoon passed and darkness fell. The peon brought in a candle stuck into a most unique candlestick, which must have been the property of some ancient Don. The boys wondered where he got it, but did not think it wise to inquire. They

knew too little Spanish to engage in anything like a general conversation with the man, but they did manage to get enough out of him to discover that he was much dissatisfied. Why, they could not make out.

Along about nine o’clock, the peon and his wife betook themselves off to the other hut, which served as their main house, and the boys, piling their saddles in the doorway, to keep out any stray dog that might be prowling about, rolled themselves up in their blankets, stretched themselves out on the floor, and were soon asleep.

How long he had slept, Billie could not tell, when he was awakened by a most unusual noise. The rain was still falling, although not in such torrents. At first Billie thought that the noise was caused by the rain on the thatched roof; but he soon became convinced that such was not the case. Finally he reached over and shook the sleeper nearest to him. It happened to be Adrian.

“What’s the matter?” queried that young gentleman, sitting up and peering into the darkness.

“I don’t know,” whispered Billie, “but it sounds as though some one were trying to get in.”

“Where?”

“That’s what I can’t make out.”

Adrian pulled his saddle-bag toward him and took out his electric torch. Slowly he pointed it in

every direction, but he could see nothing unusual, although the strange noise continued.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said, and then he arose to his feet.

As he did so, Billie glanced up at the speaker, and what he saw caused a broad grin to overspread his rotund countenance.

“Look!” he exclaimed, and pointed toward the roof.

Adrian did as he was told, and burst into a hearty laugh, which aroused Donald.

“What is it?” he exclaimed, also springing to his feet.

“Goats,” laughed Billy. “They’re climbing all over the roof.”

And sure enough they were, for what Billie had seen was the hoof of one of them sticking through the roof.

“They’ll all be coming through, first thing you know,” said Billie.

“I’m not so much afraid of that as that they will make holes for the rain to come through,” declared Adrian. “We must scare them off. Shoo!”

But he might as well have cried shoo at the moon.

“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Billie, “I’ll fix them.”

He crawled over to the other side of the kitchen, where a great dry cactus stem was leaned up against

the side of the wall. It was as thick as a man’s leg, about six or eight feet long, and almost as light as cork. Waiting until he was satisfied by the sound that a goat was directly over his head, he gave a great thrust with the cactus log.

His aim was a good one. With a loud bleat, that was almost a wail, the goat went tumbling off the roof, and in a minute the boys heard it pattering away as fast as it could scamper. Twice during the night was the feat repeated, the only inconvenience it caused being that the boys did not sleep as soundly as they otherwise would.

After the last interruption Billie did not return to sleep, but lay awake thinking about the strange experiences of the past two days. As a result he saw daylight slowly breaking, and finding himself so wide awake, he determined to go and tend to the horses.