"And it was YOU, Pereo," she said, caressingly, laying her soft
hand on his heaving breast, "YOU who carried me in your arms when I
was a child. It was you, Pereo, who took me before you on your
pinto horse to the rodeo, when no one knew it but ourselves, my
Pereo, was it not?" He nodded his head violently. "It was you who
showed me the gallant caballeros, the Pachecos, the Castros, the
Alvarados, the Estudillos, the Peraltas, the Vallejos." His head
kept time with each name as the fire dimmed in his wet eyes. "You
made me promise I would not forget them for the Americanos who were
here. Good! That was years ago! I am older now. I have seen
many Americans. Well, I am still free!"

He caught her hand, and raised it to his lips with a gesture almost
devotional. His eyes softened; as the exaltation of passion
passed, his voice dropped into the querulousness of privileged age.
"Ah, yes!--you, the first-born, the heiress--of a verity, yes! You
were ever a Guitierrez. But the others? Eh, where are they now?
And it was always: 'Eh, Pereo, what shall we do to-day? Pereo,
good Pereo, we are asked to ride here and there; we are expected to
visit the new people in the valley--what say you, Pereo? Who shall
we dine to-day?' Or: 'Enquire me of this or that strange
caballero--and if we may speak.' Ah, it is but yesterday that
Amita would say: 'Lend me thine own horse, Pereo, that I may
outstrip this swaggering Americano that clings ever to my side,'
ha! ha! Or the grave Dorotea would whisper: 'Convey to this Senor
Presumptuous Pomposo that the daughters of Guitierrez do not ride
alone with strangers!' Or even the little Liseta would say, he!
he! 'Why does the stranger press my foot in his great hand when he
helps me into the saddle? Tell him that is not the way, Pereo.'