XVI

It was eleven o'clock when the car rolled down the main street of El
Toro. From the sidewalk, sundry citizens, of diverse shades of color and
conditions of servitude, observing Minuet Farrel, halted abruptly and
stared as if seeing a ghost. Don Mike wanted to shout to them glad words
of greeting, of affectionate badinage, after the fashion of that
easy-going and democratic community, but he feared to make the girl at
his side conspicuous; so he contented himself by uncovering gravely to
the women and waving debonairly to the men. This constituting ocular
evidence that he was not a ghost or a man who bore a striking physical
resemblance to one they mourned as dead, the men so saluted returned his
greeting.

The few who had recognized him as he entered the town, quickly, by their
cries of greeting, roused the loungers and idle conversationalists along
the sidewalks further down the street. There was a rush to shop doors, a
craning of necks, excited inquiries in Spanish and English; more shouts
of greeting. A gaunt, hawk-faced elderly man, with Castilian features,
rode up on a bay horse, showed a sheriff's badge to William, the
chauffeur, and informed him he was arrested for speeding. Then he
pressed his horse close enough to extend a hand to Farrel.

"Miguel, my boy," he said in English, out of deference to the girl in the
car, "this is a very great--a very unexpected joy. We have grieved for
you, my friend."