Graciosa laughed.  “Thou wilt marry and have ten children.”

“By every station in the mission I will not.  Why bring more women into the world to suffer?”

“Ay, Eulogia! thou art always saying things I cannot understand and that thou shouldst not think about.  But I have a husband for thee.  He came from Los Angeles this morning, and is a friend of my Carlos.  His name is not so pretty—­Tomas Garfias.  There he rides now.”

Eulogia looked out of the window with little curiosity.  A small young man was riding down the street on a superb horse coloured like golden bronze, with silver mane and tail.  His saddle of embossed leather was heavily mounted with silver; the spurs were inlaid with gold and silver, and the straps of the latter were worked with gleaming metal threads.  He wore a light red serape, heavily embroidered and fringed.  His botas of soft deerskin, dyed a rich green and stamped with Aztec Eagles, were tied at the knee by a white silk cord wound about the leg and finished with heavy silver tassels.  His short breeches were trimmed with gold lace.  As he caught Graciosa’s eye he raised his sombrero, then rode through the open door of a neighbouring saloon and tossed off an American drink without dismounting from his horse.

Eulogia lifted her shoulders.  “I like his saddle and his horse, but he is too small.  Still, a new man is not disagreeable.  When shall I meet him?”

“To-night, my Eulogia.  He goes with us to Miramar.”

VII

A party of young people started that night for a ball at Miramar, the home of Don Polycarpo Quijas.  Many a caballero had asked the lady of his choice to ride on his saddle while he rode on the less comfortable aquera behind and guided his horse with arm as near her waist as he dared.  Dona Pomposa, with a small brood under her wing, started last of all in an American wagon.  The night was calm, the moon was high, the party very gay.

Abel Hudson and the newcomer, Don Tomas Garfias, sat on either side of Eulogia, and she amused herself at the expense of both.

“Don Tomas says that he is handsomer than the men of San Luis,” she said to Hudson.  “Do not you think he is right?  See what a beautiful curl his mustachios have, and what a droop his eyelids.  Holy Mary!—­how that yellow ribbon becomes his hair!  Ay, senor!  Why have you come to dazzle the eyes of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?”

“Ah, senorita,” said the little dandy, “it will do their eyes good to see an elegant young man from the city.  And they should see my sister.  She would teach them how to dress and arrange their hair.”

“Bring her to teach us, senor, and for reward we will find her a tall and modest husband such as the girls of San Luis Obispo admire.  Don Abel, why do you not boast of your sisters?  Have you none, nor mother, nor father, nor brother?  I never hear you speak of them.  Maybe you grow alone out of the earth.”