"I see it all," said Demorest, half seriously: "you were coquetting with
him, and he was jealous."

But Dona Rosita shook her head and turned impetuously, and said in
English to Joan:

"No, it was astutcia--a trick, a ruse. Because when my father have
arrived at his house, he is agone. And so every time. When he have the
fit he goes not to his house. No. And it ees not until after one time
when he comes back never again, that we have comprehend what he do at
these times. And what do you think? I shall tell to you."

She composed herself comfortably, with her plump elbows on her knees,
and her fan crossed on the palm of her hand before her, and began again:

"It is a year he has gone, and the stagecoach is attack of brigands.
Tiburcio, our vaquero, have that night made himself a pasear on the
road, and he have seen HIM. He have seen, one, two, three men came from
the wood with something on the face, and HE is of them. He has nothing
on his face, and Tiburcio have recognize him. We have laugh at Tiburcio.
We believe him not. It is improbable that this Senor Huanson--"

"Senor who?" said Demorest.

"Huanson--eet is the name of him. Ah, Carr!--posiblemente it is
nothing--a Don Fulano--or an apodo--Huanson."

"Oh, I see, JOHNSON, very likely."