“Crop-eared Jose!” cried Pearl, falling back a pace or two and looking from her father to the two women in wide-eyed astonishment.  “Why, they are still looking for him.  Are you not afraid?” She looked from one to the other as if asking the question of all.  She was not shocked, nor, to tell the truth, particularly surprised after the first moment of wonder.  She had been used to strange company all her life, and ever since her childhood, on her brief visits to her father’s cabin, she had been accustomed to his cronies, lean, brown, scarred pirates and picaroons, full of strange Spanish oaths.

“You will not mention this in letters to your mother,” ordered Gallito, glooming at her with fierce eyes.  “You know her.  Caramba!  If she should guess, the world would know it.”

“Lord, yes!” agreed Pearl uninterestedly.  “You needn’t be afraid of me,” to Jose, “I don’t tell what I know.”

“That is true,” commended Gallito, motioning her at the same time to the table.

It seems a pity to record that such a supper was set before a woman suffering from a wound of the heart.  Women at all times are held to be lacking in that epicurean appreciation of good food which man justly extols; but when a woman’s whole being is absorbed in a disappointment in love, nectar and ambrosia are as sawdust to her.

On the outer rim of that circle which knew him but slightly, or merely knew of him, the causes of the charmed life which Jose bore were a matter of frequent speculation, also continual wonder was expressed that his friends would sometimes take incredible risks in effecting the escape of this rogue after one of his reckless escapades.  But Jose had certain positive qualities, had these gossips but known it, which endeared him to his companions; although among them could never be numbered gratitude, a lively appreciation of benefits received or a tried and true affection.

Certainly a dog-like fidelity was not among Jose’s virtues.  He would lift the purse of his best friend or his rescuer from a desperate impasse, provided it were sufficiently heavy.  A favor of a nature to put him under obligations for a lifetime he forgot as soon as it was accepted.  He caricatured a benefactor to his face, nor ever dreamed of sparing friend or foe his light, pointed jibes which excoriated the surface of the smoothest vanity.

No, the only virtues which could be accredited to Jose, and these were sufficient, were an unfailing lightness of heart, the facile and fascinating gift of yarn-spinning—­for he was a born raconteur, with a varied experience to draw upon—­a readiness for high play, at which he lost and won with the same gay and unruffled humor, and an incomparable and heaven-bestowed gift of cookery.

To-night the very sight of the supper set before him softened Gallito’s harsh face.  Brook trout, freshly caught that afternoon from the rushing mountain stream not far away from the cabin, and smoking hot from the frying pan; an omelette, golden brown and buttercup yellow, of a fluff, a fragrance, with savories hidden beneath its surface, a conserve of fruits, luscious, amber and subtly biting, the coffee of dreams and a bottle of red wine, smooth as honey.