It was, indeed, only the young scion of the house of Alvarado,
blue-eyed, sallow-skinned, and high-shouldered, coming towards them
on a fiery, half-broken mustang, whose very spontaneous lawlessness
seemed to accentuate and bring out the grave and decorous ease of
his rider. Even in his burlesque preoccupation the editor of the
"Record" did not withhold his admiration of this perfect
horsemanship. Mamie, who, in her wounded amour propre, would like
to have made much of it to annoy her companion, was thus estopped
any ostentatious compliment.

Don Caesar lifted his hat with sweet seriousness to the lady, with
grave courtesy to the gentleman. While the lower half of this
Centaur was apparently quivering with fury, and stamping the ground
in his evident desire to charge upon the pair, the upper half, with
natural dignity, looked from the one to the other, as if to leave
the privilege of an explanation with them. But Mamie was too wise,
and her companion too indifferent, to offer one. A slight shade
passed over Don Caesar's face. To complicate the situation at that
moment, the expected stagecoach came rattling by. With quick
feminine intuition, Mamie caught in the faces of the driver and the
expressman, and reflected in the mischievous eyes of her companion,
a peculiar interpretation of their meeting, that was not removed by
the whispered assurance of the editor that the passengers were
anxiously looking back "to see the shooting."

The young Spaniard, equally oblivious of humor or curiosity,
remained impassive.

"You know Mr. Slinn, of the 'Record," said Mamie, "don't you?"