wearing only the short black trousers laced with silver, a shirt of
dazzling whiteness, a silk handkerchief twisted about the head, and
huge spurs on their bare brown heels. Some of us stood on a platform,
others remained on their horses; all were wild with excitement and
screamed themselves hoarse. The great dark eyes of the girls flashed,
their red mouths trembled with the flood of eager exclamations; the
lace mantilla or flowered reboso fluttered against hot cheeks, to be
torn off, perhaps, and waved in the enthusiasm of the moment. They
forgot the men, and the men forgot them. Even Chonita was oblivious to
all else for the hour. She was a famous horsewoman, and keenly alive
to the enchantment of the race-field. The men bet their ranchos, whole
caponeras of their finest horses, herds of cattle, their saddles and
their jewels. Estenega won largely, and, as it happened, from Reinaldo
particularly. Don Guillermo was rather pleased than otherwise, holding
his son to be in need of further punishment; but Reinaldo was obliged
to call upon all the courtesy of the Spaniard and all the falseness of
his nature to help him remember that his enemy was his guest.

We went home to siesta and long gay supper, where the races were the
only topic of conversation; then to dance and sing and flirt
until midnight, the people in the booths as tireless as ourselves.
Valencia's attentions to Estenega were as conspicuous as usual, but he
managed to devote most of his time to Chonita.

* * * * *

That night Chonita had a dream. She dreamed that she awoke without
a soul. The sense of vacancy was awful, yet there was a singular
undercurrent consciousness that no soul ever had been within
her,--that it existed, but was yet to be found.