room that gave upon a green grass courtyard.  Seated before a rude table, sipping aguardiente, was his countryman Winslow and two traders of the pueblo.  They were evidently of the number already indicated who had adopted the American fashions.  Senor Ruiz wore a linen “duster” in place of his embroidered jacket, and Senor Martinez had an American beard, or “goatee,” in imitation of Mr. Banks.  The air was yellow with the fumes of tobacco, through which the shrewd eyes of Winslow gleamed murkily.

“This,” he said to his countryman, in fluent if not elegant Spanish, indicating the gentleman who had imitated Banks, “is a man of ideas, and a power in Todos Santos.  He would control all the votes in his district if there were anything like popular suffrage here, and he understands the American policy.”

Senor Martinez here hastened to inform Mr. Brace that he had long cherished a secret and enthusiastic admiration for that grand and magnanimous nation of which his friend was such a noble representative; that, indeed, he might say it was an inherited taste, for had not his grandfather once talked with the American whaling Capitano Coffino and partaken of a subtle spirit known as “er-r-rum” on his ship at Acapulco?

“There’s nothing mean about Martinez,” said Winslow to Brace confidentially, in English.  “He’s up to anything, and ready from the word ‘Go.’  Don’t you think he’s a little like Banks, you know—­a sort of Mexican edition.  And there is Ruiz, he’s a cattle dealer; he’d be a good friend of Banks if Banks wasn’t so infernally self-opinionated.  But Ruiz ain’t a fool, either.  He’s picked up a little English—­good American, I mean—­from me already.”

Senor Ruiz here smiled affably, to show his comprehension; and added slowly, with great gravity,—­

“It is of twenty-four year I have first time the Amencano of your beautiful country known.  He have buy the hides and horns of the cattle—­for his ship—­here.”

“Here?” echoed Brace.  “I thought no American ship—­no ship at all—­had been in here for fifty years.”

Ruiz shrugged his shoulders, and cast a glance at his friend Martinez, lowered his voice and lifted his eyelashes at the same moment, and, jerking his yellow, tobacco-stained thumb over his arm, said,—­

“Ah—­of a verity—­on the beach—­two leagues away.”

“Do you hear that?” said Winslow, turning complacently to Brace and rising to his feet.  “Don’t you see now what hogwash the Commander, Alcalde, and the priest have been cramming down our throats about this place being sealed up for fifty years.  What he says is all Gospel truth.  That’s what I wanted you fellows to hear, and you might have heard before, only you were afraid of compromising yourselves by talking with the people.  You get it into your heads—­and the Comandante helped you to get it there—­that Todos Santos was a sort of Sleepy Hollow, and that no one knew anything of the political changes for the last fifty years.  Well, what’s the fact?  Ask Ruiz there, and Martinez, and they’ll both tell you they know that Mexico got her independence in 1826, and that the Council keep it dark that they may perpetuate themselves.  They know,” he continued, lowering his voice, “that the Commander’s commission from the old Viceroy isn’t worth the paper it is stamped upon.”