The hacienda of Ramon Saltillo, Enriquez’ cousin, was on the outskirts of the village.  When I arrived there I found Enriquez’ pinto mustang steaming in the corral, and although I was momentarily delayed by the servants at the gateway, I was surprised to find Enriquez himself lying languidly on his back in a hammock in the patio.  His arms were hanging down listlessly on each side as if in the greatest prostration, yet I could not resist the impression that the rascal had only just got into the hammock when he heard of my arrival.

“You have arrived, friend Pancho, in time,” he said, in accents of exaggerated weakness.  “I am absolutely exhaust.  I am bursted, caved in, kerflummoxed.  I have behold you, my friend, at the barrier.  I speak not, I make no sign at the first, because I was on fire; I speak not at the feenish—­for I am exhaust.”

“I see; the bull made it lively for you.”

He instantly bounded up in the hammock.  “The bull!  Caramba!  Not a thousand bulls!  And thees one, look you, was a craven.  I snap my fingers over his horn; I roll my cigarette under his nose.”

“Well, then—­what was it?”

He instantly lay down again, pulling up the sides of the hammock.  Presently his voice came from its depths, appealing in hollow tones to the sky.  “He asks me—­thees friend of my soul, thees brother of my life, thees Pancho that I lofe—­what it was?  He would that I should tell him why I am game in the legs, why I shake in the hand, crack in the voice, and am generally wipe out!  And yet he, my pardner—­thees Francisco—­know that I have seen the mees from Boston!  That I have gaze into the eye, touch the hand, and for the instant possess the picture that hand have drawn!  It was a sublime picture, Pancho,” he said, sitting up again suddenly, “and have kill the bull before our friend Pepe’s sword have touch even the bone of hees back and make feenish of him.”

“Look here, Enriquez,” I said bluntly, “have you been serenading that girl?”

He shrugged his shoulders without the least embarrassment, and said:  “Ah, yes.  What would you?  It is of a necessity.”

“Well,” I retorted, “then you ought to know that her uncle took it all to himself—­thought you some grateful Catholic pleased with his religious tolerance.”

He did not even smile.  “Bueno,” he said gravely.  “That make something, too.  In thees affair it is well to begin with the duenna.  He is the duenna.”

“And,” I went on relentlessly, “her escort told her just now that your exploit in the bull ring was only a trick to divert the bull, suggested by the management.”

“Bah! her escort is a geologian.  Naturally, she is to him as a stone.”

I would have continued, but a peon interrupted us at this moment with a sign to Enriquez, who leaped briskly from the hammock, bidding me wait his return from a messenger in the gateway.