Dona Anita withdrew, and as I lay pondering over the several possible routes of escape, I heard a commotion in the ranch.  I was in the act of rising when Dona Anita burst into the jacal to tell me that Don Lance had been sighted returning.  I was on my feet in an instant, heard the long-drawn notes of the horn calling in the hounds, and, peering through the largest crack, saw the cavalcade.  As they approached, driving their loose mounts in front of them, I felt that my ill luck still hung over me; for among the unsaddled horses were the two which I had turned free but a few hours before.  The hunters had met the gaunted animals between the ranch and the river, and were bringing them in to return them to their own remuda.  But at the same time the horses were evidence that I was in the ranch.  From the position of Uncle Lance, in advance, I could see that he was riding direct to the house, and my absence there would surely cause surprise.  At best it was but a question of time until I was discovered.

In the face of this new development, I gave up.  There was no escaping fate.  Enrique might not return for two hours yet, and if he came, driving in my horse, it would only prove my presence.  I begged Dona Anita to throw open the door and conceal nothing.  But she was still ready to aid in my concealment until night, offering to deny my presence.  But how could I conceal myself in a single room, and what was so simple a device to a worldly man of sixty years’ experience?  To me the case looked hopeless.  Even before we had concluded our discussion, I saw Uncle Lance and the boys coming towards the Mexican quarters, followed by Miss Jean and the household contingent.  The fact that the door of Enrique’s jacal was closed, made it a shining mark for investigation.  Opening the inner door, I started to meet the visitors; but Dona Anita planted herself at the outer entrance of the stoop, met the visitors, and within my hearing and without being asked stoutly denied my presence.  “Hush up, you little liar,” said a voice, and I heard a step and clanking spurs which I recognized.  I had sat down on the edge of the bed, and was rolling a cigarette as the crowd filed into the jacal.  A fortunate flush of anger came over me which served to steady my voice; but I met their staring, after all, much as if I had been a culprit and they a vigilance committee.

“Well, young fellow, explain your presence here,” demanded Uncle Lance.  Had it not been for the presence of Miss Jean, I had on my tongue’s end a reply, relative to the eleventh commandment, emphasized with sulphurous adjectives.  But out of deference to the mistress of the ranch, I controlled my anger, and, taking out of my pocket a flint, a steel, and, a bit of yesca, struck fire and leisurely lighted my cigarette.  Throwing myself back on the bed, as my employer repeated his demand, I replied, “Ask Anita.”  The girl understood, and, nothing abashed, told the story in her native tongue, continually referring to me as pobre Tomas.  When her disconnected narrative was concluded, Uncle Lance turned on me, saying:—­