"
"You're sure--there's no one at the place?" Benito questioned.
"Pretty sure. But what's it matter? Everybody knows it's yours by
rights. Wait," he cried, excitedly. "I'll get horses. Stuart and I will
go along. We'll pick up six or seven bully boys along the way. Is it
a go?"
"A go!" exclaimed Benito, his eyes ashine. "You--you're too good, Bob
Ridley." He pressed the other's hand. "My wife," he mused, "among the
roses in the patio! The old home, Dear God! Let it come true!"
An hour later ten men galloped through the gate of the Windham rancho.
No one offered them resistance. It had the look of a place long
abandoned. Dead leaves and litter everywhere. All of the animals had
been driven off--sold, no doubt. The hacienda had been ransacked of its
valuables. It was almost bare of furniture. The rose court, neglected,
unkempt, brought back a surge of memories. A chimney had fallen; broken
adobe bricks lay scattered on the grass.
But to Benito it spelled home. For him and for Alice. This should be his
Christmas gift. Old Antonio, his former major-domo, lingered still in
San Francisco. He would send him out this very day to set the place in
order.
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