On the other side of the fence, an old and long neglected apple orchard, a
tumble-down log barn, and the wreck of a house with the fireplace and
chimney standing stark and alone, told the story. The place was one of
those old ranches, purchased by the Power Company for the water rights,
and deserted by those who once had called it home. From the gate, ancient
wagon tracks, overgrown with weeds, led somewhere around the edge of the
orchard and were lost in the tangle of trees and brush on its lower side.
The two men looked at each other in laughing surprise. The burro, turning
his head, gazed at them over his shoulder, inquiringly, as much as to say,
"Well, what's the matter now? Why don't you come along?"
"When in doubt, ask Croesus," said the artist, gravely.
Conrad Lagrange calmly opened the gate.
Promptly, the burro trotted ahead. Following the ancient weed-grown
tracks, he led them around the lower end of the orchard; crossed a little
stream; and, turning again, climbed a gentle rise of open, grassy land
behind the orchard; stopping at last, with an air of having accomplished
his purpose, in a beautiful little grove of sycamore trees that bordered a
small cienaga.
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