Nathan Spear elbowed his way to the commander’s side.  With him came Senora Windham and the smiling Senorita Inez.  Benito lingered rather diffidently in the background with a group of Spanish Californians, but was finally induced to bring them forward.  There were general handshakings.  Many other rancheros, now that the ice was broken, brought their wives and daughters for an introduction to the gringo commandante, and Montgomery, his good humor restored, kissed many a fair hand in response to a languishing smile.  It seemed a happy and a friendly seizure.  Inez said, eyes a-sparkle, “We shall see you at the ball this evening, Senor Commandante.”

“I shall claim the first dance, Senorita,” said the sailor, bowing low.  Her heart leaped as they left him, and she squeezed her brother’s arm.  “He is a kindly man, Benito mio.  I shall tell him of this interloper—­this McTurpin.  Have no fear.”

Benito smiled a little dubiously.  He had less faith than Inez in the future government of the Americans.

CHAPTER V

AN OFFER AND A THREAT

Aleck McTurpin, tired but exhilarated, rode toward the Windham rancho on the morning after Leidesdorff’s ball.  He had made a night of it and he was in high fettle.  The Senorita Windham had granted him a dance despite her brother’s scowling disapproval.  Out of the charm of that brief association there had come into the gambler’s mind a daring plan.  To the Senorita Inez he had spoken of his claim upon the Windham rancho through her brother’s note won on the gambling table.  He had touched the matter very gently, for McTurpin knew the ways of women and was not without engaging qualities when they stood him in good stead.

Now he rode toward a tryst with Inez Windham and his heart leaped at the prospect of another sight of her; within him like a heady wine there was the memory of her sparkling eyes, the roguish, mischievous, half-pouting mouth.  The consciousness of something finer than his life had known aroused in him strange devotional impulses, unfamiliar yearnings.

He and the Senorita were to meet and plan a settlement of McTurpin’s claim against the rancho.  He had asked her to come alone, and, after a swift look, half fearful, half desperate, she consented.  It was an unheard-of thing in Spanish etiquette.  But he believed she would fulfill the bargain.  And if she did, he asked himself, what should he say—­or do?  For, perhaps, the first time in his life McTurpin was uncertain.

Suddenly the road turned and he came upon her.  She stood beside her horse, the morning sunlight in her wondrous dark hair.  The ride had brought fresh color to her face and sparkle to her eyes.  McTurpin caught his breath before the wonder and beauty of her.  Then he sprang from his horse and bowed low.  The Senorita Inez nodded almost curtly.