As soon as the herd had started for home the next morning, Uncle Lance and I returned to Santa Maria.  We were extended a cordial reception by Don Mateo, and after the chronicle of happenings since the two rancheros last met had been reviewed, the motive of our sudden return was mentioned.  By combining the vocabularies of my employer and myself, we mentioned our errand as delicately as possible, pleading guilty and craving every one’s pardon for our rudeness in verbally conducting the negotiations.  To our surprise,—­for to Mexicans customs are as rooted as Faith,—­Don Mateo took no offense and summoned Dona Gregoria.  I was playing a close second to the diplomat of our side of the house, and when his Spanish failed him and he had recourse to English, it is needless to say I handled matters to the best of my ability.  The Spanish is a musical, passionate language and well suited to love making, and though this was my first use of it for that purpose, within half an hour we had won the ranchero and his wife to our side of the question.

Then, at Don Mateo’s orders, the parents of the girl were summoned.  This involved some little delay, which permitted coffee being served, and discussion, over the cigarettes, of the commonplace matters of the country.  There was beginning to be a slight demand for cattle to drive to the far north on the trails, some thought it was the sign of a big development, but neither of the rancheros put much confidence in the movement, etc., etc.  The corporal and his wife suddenly made their appearance, dressed in their best, which accounted for the delay, and all cattle conversation instantly ceased.  Uncle Lance arose and greeted the husky corporal and his timid wife with warm cordiality.  I extended my greetings to the Mexican foreman, whom I had met at the rodeo about a month before.  We then resumed our seats, but the corporal and his wife remained standing, and with an elegant command of his native tongue Don Mateo informed the couple of our mission.  They looked at each other in bewilderment.  Tears came into the wife’s eyes.  For a moment I pitied her.  Indeed, the pathetic was not lacking.  But the hearty corporal reminded his better half that her parents, in his interests, had once been asked for her hand under similar circumstances, and the tears disappeared.  Tears are womanly; and I have since seen them shed, under less provocation, by fairer-skinned women than this simple, swarthy daughter of Mexico.

It was but natural that the parents of the girl should feign surprise and reluctance if they did not feel it.  The Dona Anita’s mother offered several trivial objections.  Her daughter had never taken her into her confidence over any suitor.  And did Anita really love Enrique Lopez of Las Palomas?  Even if she did, could he support her, being but a vaquero?  This brought Uncle Lance to the front.  He had known Enrique since the day of his birth.  As a five-year-old, and naked as the day he was born,