The next morning Don Alejandro proposed returning to the Mission.  But the old ranchero hooted the idea, and informed his guest that he had ordered the ambulance, as he intended showing him the recent improvements made on Las Palomas.  When the guest protested against a longer absence from home, the host artfully intimated that by remaining another day a favorable reply might possibly go with him.  Don Alejandro finally consented.  I was pressed in as driver and interpreter, and our team tore away from the ranch with a flourish.  To put it mildly, I was disgusted at having my plans for the day knocked in the head, yet knew better than protest.  As we drove along, myriads of grass-blades were peeping up since the rain, giving every view a greenish cast.  Nearly every windmill on the ranch on our circuit was pointed out, and we passed three of our four tanks, one of which was over half a mile in length.  After stopping at an outlying ranchita for refreshment, we spent the afternoon in a similar manner.  From a swell of the prairie some ten miles to the westward of the ranch, we could distinctly see an outline of the Ganso.  Halting the ambulance, the old ranchero pointed out to his guest the meanderings of that creek from its confluence with the parent stream until it became lost in the hills to the southward.

“That tract of ground,” said he, “is my last landed addition to Las Palomas.  It lies north and south, giving me six miles’ frontage on the Nueces. and extending north of the river about four miles, Don Alejandro, when I note the great change which has come over this valley since I settled here, it convinces me that if one wishes to follow ranching he had better acquire title to what range he needs.  Land has advanced in price from a few cents an acre to four bits, and now they say the next generation will see it worth a dollar.  This Ganso grant contains a hundred and fourteen sections, and I have my eye on one or two other adjoining tracts.  My generation will not need it, but the one who succeeds me may.  Now, as we drive home, I’ll try to show you the northern boundary of our range; it’s fairly well outlined by the divide between the Nueces and the Frio rivers.”

From the conversation which followed until we reached headquarters, I readily understood that the old matchmaker was showing the rose and concealing its thorn.  His motive was not always clear to me, for one would have supposed from his almost boastful claims regarding its extent and carrying capacity for cattle, he was showing the ranch to a prospective buyer.  But as we neared home, the conversation innocently drifted to the Mexican element and their love for the land to which they were born.  Then I understood why I was driving four mules instead of basking in the smiles of my own sweetheart on the San Miguel.  Nor did this boasting cease during the evening, but alternated from lands and cattle to the native people, and finally centred about a Mexican girl who had been so fortunate as to have been born to the soil of Las Palomas.