“I am a mining engineer, and we have got hold of a good thing near here.”

“The mine—­it is yours?”

“Only a part of it.”

“The Americanos make all the money now.”

“The gold was put here for some one to take out.  You Californians had things all your own way for a hundred years, but you let it stay there.”

“Tell me how you take it out.”

He entered into a detailed and somewhat technical description, but her quick mind grasped the meaning of unfamiliar words.

“You like make the money?” she asked, after he had finished.

“Of course.  What else is a man made for?  Life is a pretty small affair without money.”

“We no have much now, but we live very happy.  The Americanos love the money, though.  Alway I see that.”

“Americans have sense.”

He devoted himself to her during the ten days of their stay, and his business shrewdness and matter-of-fact conversation attracted the keen-witted girl, satiated with sighs and serenades.  Always eager for knowledge, she learned much from him of the Eastern world.  She did not waste a glance on her reproachful caballeros, but held long practical conversations with Rogers under the mending wing of Dona Pomposa, who approved of the stranger, having ascertained his abilities and prospects from the older men of his party.

On the morning of their return to San Luis Obispo, Rogers and Eulogia were standing somewhat apart, whilst the vaqueros rounded up the horses that had strayed at will through the valley.  Rogers plucked one of the purple autumn lilies and handed it to her.

“Senorita,” he said, “suppose you marry me.  It is a good thing for a man to be married in a wild country like this; he is not so apt to gamble and drink.  And although I’ve seen a good many pretty girls, I’ve seen no one so likely to keep me at home in the evening as yourself.  What do you say?”

Eulogia laughed.  His wooing interested her.

“I promise marry another man; not I think much I ever go to do it.”

“Well, let him go, and marry me.”

“I no think I like you much better.  But I spose I must get marry some day.  Here my mother come.  Ask her.  I do what she want.”

Dona Pomposa was trotting toward them, and while she struggled for her lost breath Eulogia repeated the proposal of the American, twanging her guitar the while.

The old lady took but one moment to make up her mind.  “The American,” she said rapidly in Spanish.  “Garfias is rich now, but in a few years the Americans will have everything.  Garfias will be poor; this man will be rich.  Marry the American,” and she beamed upon Rogers.

Eulogia shrugged her shoulders and turned to her practical wooer.

“My mother she say she like you the best.”

“Then I may look upon that little transaction as settled?”

“Si you like it.”