"The sea hardens a man's body, but I can't say as much for his feet," Henderson returned, looking ruefully at his worn shoes.
"Tomorrow will see you restored," Don Abrahan assured him, kindly enough for a man on a horse to a man in the road, it seemed to Henderson at that time. "I will take you to Felipe Guieterrez, my mayordomo, that is to say my steward, who will relieve your present needs and provide for your future, at least such of it as lies just beyond our shadows."
This Felipe Guieterrez, called Don Felipe by those immediately under his hand, came hurrying forward across the courtyard as his patron rode in, the sailor going somewhat lamely by his side. Don Felipe emerged from a long adobe shed-like building, which appeared to be a warehouse for storing the products of the ranch, judging by such of its contents as were discovered to the eye. Hay was there, and sacks of grain; hides of sheep and cattle; wood piled in high ranks. The mayordomo's office was in one end of this building. He came out of it bareheaded, leaving the door open, showing its smoky interior like the secret of a man's life surprised out of his keeping.
Don Felipe was a slight, short man, pale of face as if he kept himself hidden from the sun. His hair was almost blue in its intense blackness; small raised blotches, black with extraordinary growth of close-shaved beard, roughened his countenance, giving his face the appearance of carrying barna-
