She seemed to struggle with some emotion before she spoke:

"Please don't mention Valencia Valdés while you are at the ranch. I--I
have reasons, sir."

"Certainly; I'll do as you prefer."

To himself he thought that there was probably a feud of some kind
between the two families that might make a mention of the name
unpleasant. "And that reminds me that I don't know what your name is.
Mine is Muir--Richard Muir."

"And mine is Maria Yuste."

He offered her his brown hand. "I'm right happy to meet you, Señorita
Maria."

"Welcome to the Yuste _hacienda, señor_. What is ours is yours, so long
as you are our guest. I pray you make yourself at home," she said as
they rode into the courtyard.

Two Mexican lads came running forward; and one whom she called Pedro
took the horse, while the other went into the house to attend to a quick
command she gave in Spanish.

The man who had named himself Richard Muir followed his hostess through
a hall, across an open court, and into a living-room carpeted with
Navajo rugs, at the end of which was a great open fireplace bearing a
Spanish motto across it.