“Ah!  You did steal her, did you?  Why do gypsies steal children when they have so many of their own, and it is so easy to raise more, Chicarona?”

“Azk ze tiger why it zpringz, or ze lightning why it zdrikes!  I will alzo azk ze Caballero a queztion.  What doez he wan’ wiz zis leedle gurrl?”

“To be a father to her!” he answered, with a sly wink at Baltasar.

“Alzo’ I am dressed in wool, I am no sheep!  Tell me,” she cried, stamping her foot.

“Why should I tell secrets to one who can read the future?” he asked banteringly.

Chicarona’s mood was changing.  It was evident from her looks, either that she was defeated in the contest by this wily and resistless combatant or that she had succumbed to the temptation of his money.

“How much will you gif vor zis chil’?” she asked.

“One hundred dollars,” he replied.

“One hunner dollars!  You paid more zan twize as much vor ze horze!  Eez nod a woman worth more zan a horze?”

“She will be, when she is a woman.  She is a child now.”

“Let me zee ze color of your money!”

He drew a leather wallet from his pocket and held it tantalizingly before her eyes.

Its influence was decisive upon her avaricious soul, and she clutched at it wildly.

“Put it into my han’!” she cried.

“Put Pepeeta into mine,” he said.

“Pepeeta!  Pepeeta!” she called.

“Pepeeta!  Pepeeta!” shrilled the old crone.

Out of the door of the tent she came, her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her fingers picking nervously at the tinsel strings which fastened her bodice.

“Gif me ze money and take her,” said Chicarona.

He counted out the gold, and then approached the child.  For the first time in his life he experienced an emotion of reverence.  There was something about her beauty, her helplessness and his responsibility that made a new appeal to his heart.

Yielding to the gentle pressure of his hand, she permitted herself to be led away.  Not a goodbye was said.  Chicarona’s feeling toward her had been fast developing from jealousy into hatred as the child’s beauty began to increase and attract attention.  The others loved her, but dared not show it.  Not a sign of regret was exhibited, except by the old crone, who approached her, gave her a stealthy caress, and secretly placed a crumpled parchment in her hand.

The Doctor lifted the child upon the horse’s back and climbed into the saddle.  As they turned into the highway, he heard Chicarona say, “Bring me my pajunda, Baltasar, and I will sing a grachalpa.”