beauty, even in the form of olive-trees and purple mists, it was not the loveliness of these Spanish girls that set his pulses beating and sent the blood to his head.  This was almost his first sight of gentlewomen since the memorable day in his native village, and the certainty that his opportunity had come at last filled him with both triumph and terror as he spurred down the slope, then paused and watched the cavalcade pick their way down through the golden grass and the thick green bush of the canon.  In a moment he recognized Don Enrique Ortega, who spoke to him pleasantly enough as he rode into the creek and dropped his bridle that his horse might drink.  The two young men had met at the Mission, and although Enrique regarded the conquerors of his country as an inferior race, John was as good as any of them, and doubtless it was best to make no enemies.  Moreover, his manners were very good.

“Ah, Don Juan,” he exclaimed, “you have make the visit to Yerba Buena—­San Francisco you call him now, no?  I go this morning to meet my friends who make for the Rancho de los Olivos so great an honor.  Si you permit me I introduce you, for you are the friend de my cousin, Padre Ortega.”

The company had scattered down the stream to refresh their horses, making a long banner of color in the dark canon.  Don Enrique led John along the line, and presented him solemnly to each in turn.  The caballeros protested eternal friendship with vehement insincerity, and the girls flashed their eyes and teeth at the blue-eyed young American without descending from their unconscious pride of sex and race.  They had the best blood of Spain in them, and an American was an American, be he never so agreeable to contemplate.

The girls looked much alike in the rebosos which framed their faces so closely, and John promptly fell in love with all of them at once.  Selection could take place later; he was too happy to think of anything so serious as immediate marriage.  But one of them he determined to have.

He rode out of the canon with them, and they were gracious, and chattered of the pleasures to come at the Rancho de los Olivos.

John noticed that Enrique kept persistently at the side of one maiden, and rode a little ahead with her.  She was very tall and slim, and so graceful that she swayed almost to her horse’s neck when branches drooped too low.  John began to wish for a glimpse of her face.

“That is Delfina Carillo,” said the girl beside him, following his gaze.  “She go to marry with Enrique, I theenk.  He is very devot, and I think she like him, but no will say.”

Perhaps it was merely the fact that this dainty flower hung a little higher than the others that caused John’s thoughts to concentrate upon her, and roused his curiosity to such an extent that he drew his companion on to talk of the girl who was favored by Enrique Ortega.  He learned that she was the daughter of a great rancher near Santa Barbara, and was La Favorita of all the country round.