The hacienda was slightly over twenty miles interior.  Bedient was entranced by the sunset from the heights.  Then the slow ride to the Carreras House through the darkened hills:  the smell of warm earth from the thick growths by the trail-side; little stars slipping into place like the glisten of fireflies in a garden, or gems in a maiden’s hair; a scandalously-naked new moon lying low, like an arc of white-hot wire in the purple twilight, and always behind them, a majestic splash of jewel-edged crimson which showed the West.

And presently, from a high curve in the road, they saw the lights of the hacienda bold upon its eminence—­and a dark valley between.  Into this night they descended, for the last course of the journey; and as the ponies clattered upward again, white-coated natives came forth to meet them.  Bedient was further astonished at their volubility and easy laughter.  They spoke a debased Spanish, which the Captain had fallen into,—­as difficult of understanding for one whose medium was pure Castilian as for one who spoke English.  There was that mystery upon the environs that always comes to one who reaches his destination in the darkness.  And to Bedient the sensation was not wholly of joy.  These were wild hills, not without grandeur, but there was something of chaos, too, to him who came from the roof of the world.  He missed the peace of the greater mountains.  His heart hungered to go out to the natives crowding around—­white-toothed men and women of incessant laughter—­but the tones of their voices checked the current.  It was emptiness—­but nothing he had to give seemed able to enter.

The Captain was ill with fatigue.  His face—­the weakness expressed in the smiling mouth—­remained before Bedient’s mind, as he followed a giggling native boy to the large upper room which was for him.  Rows of broad windows faced the South and East, while a corridor ran to the North for the cool wind at night.  Electric lights and glistening black floors—­the first effect came from these.  Then the details:  rugs that matched, by art or accident, as perfectly as a valley of various grain-fields pleases the eye from a mountain-side; a great teak bed, caned with bamboo strips and canopied with silk net, yards of which one could crush in his hand, so nearly immaterial was this mosquito fabric; sumptuous steamer-chairs; a leather reading-couch that could be moved to the best breeze or light with a touch of the finger; a broad-side of books and a vast writing-table, openly dimensioned to defy litter—­the whole effect was that of coolness and silence and room.  Everything a man needed seemed to be there and breathing spaciously....  Turning through a draped door, the astonished wanderer found completeness again—­everything that makes a bath fragrant and refreshing—­even to Carreras scent and a set of perfect English razors....  It was all new to Bedient.  For an hour he tried things—­and still there were drawers and cases of undiscovered novelties and luxuries—­details of wealth which make delightful and uncommon the mere processes of living.  Very much restored in his fresh clothing, and eagerly, he went down to dinner.