"Hope you'll be happy," said Red gallantly, as the tram pulled out and Juanita leaned from the open window of the car.
"Eso no es impossible," she replied. "Dios bendiga a usted." (It is not impossible. God bless you.)
While Red was on his mission Sheridan sat in the ranch living room, reading a magazine on stock breeding. A tap came at the door and Quong entered to his invitation, suave, courteous. The Chinaman had a faculty of impressing his quality in a manner that was patent to even the cowboys of the outfit. Apart from his pots and pans his poise was that of a mandarin rather than a cook.i Sheridani instinctively rose.
"Want to see me, Quong? Have a chair?"
Quong took the seat with the grave dignity of an ambassador.
"Mr. Sheridan," he said, "I have heard some talk between you and others about the irrigation of Chico Mesa. Might I ask you to tell me the full details of the subject?"
Sheridan could not entirely veil his surprise.
"It may be as well if I tell you something of myself," went on the imperturbable Quong. "You have wondered why I, speaking as I do, came to Metzal. And you have not pressed the matter." He bowed in acknowledgment of the courtesy received, bending in his chair.
"My right name is Hi Luen. I am a mandarin of the third rank. In China I owned certain lands. These are irrigated, for rice. Not as you will irrigate. The fields are terraced from the hillsides. I am not
