horseback, in queer wagons--hurrying, pushing everywhere. Ah, it took
away the breath. All, except one American--he did not hurry, he did not
go with the others, he came and stayed here at Buenaventura. He was
very quiet, very civil, very sad, and very discreet. He was not like
the others, and always kept aloof from them. He came to see Don Andreas
Pico, and wanted to beg a piece of land and an old vaquero's hut near
the road for a trifle. Don Andreas would have given it, or a better
house, to him, or have had him live at the casa here; but he would not.
He was very proud and shy, so he took the vaquero's hut, a mere adobe
affair, and lived in it, though a caballero like yourself, with white
hands that knew not labor, and small feet that had seldom walked. In
good time he learned to ride like the best vaquero, and helped Don
Andreas to find the lost mustangs, and showed him how to improve the old
mill. And his pride and his shyness wore off, and he would come to
the casa sometimes. And Don Andreas got to love him very much, and his
daughter, Dona Rosita--ah, well, yes truly--a leetle.

"But he had strange moods and ways, this American, and at times they
would have thought him a lunatico had they not believed it to be an
American fashion. He would be very kind and gentle like one of the
family, coming to the casa every day, playing with the children,
advising Don Andreas and--yes--having a devotion--very discreet, very
ceremonious, for Dona Rosita. And then, all in a moment, he would become
as ill, without a word or gesture, until he would stalk out of the
house, gallop away furiously, and for a week not be heard of. The first
time it happened, Dona Rosita was piqued by his rudeness, Don Andreas
was alarmed, for it was on an evening like the present, and Dona Rosita
was teaching him a little song on the guitar when the fit came on him.
And he snapped the guitar strings like thread and threw it down, and got
up like a bear and walked away without a word."