“I shall have to put an end to such talk.”

“This morning the word came that the revolution is ended and that the soldiers of both parties are uniting to fight for their liberties.  They say the Gringos are killing all the old people—­ every one, in fact, except the girls, whom they take with them.  Already they have begun the most horrible practices.  Why, at Espinal”—­Dolores’s eyes were round—­“would you believe it?—­those Yankee soldiers ate a baby!  They roasted the little dear like a cabrito and ate it!  I tell you, it makes wild talk among the peladors.”

“Do you believe such stories?” Alaire inquired, with some amusement.

“Um-m—­not altogether.  But, all the same, I think it is time we were going home.”

“This is home, for me, Dolores.”

“Yes, but now that war—­”

“There isn’t any war, and there won’t be any.  However, if you are nervous I’ll send you back to Las Palmas at once.”

“Glory of God!  It would be the end of me.  These Mexicans would recognize me instantly as an American, for I have the appearance and the culture.  You can imagine what would happen to me.  They would tear me from the train.  It was nothing except General Longorio’s soldiers that brought us safely through from Nuevo Pueblo.”

“Then I’m glad that he insisted upon sending them with us.  Now tell the ranch-hands to put no faith in these ridiculous stories.  If they wish the truth let them ask General Longorio; he will be here today and quiet their fears.”

“You think he intends to pay us for our cattle?”

“Yes.”

Dolores pondered a moment.  “Well, perhaps he does—­it is not his money.  For that matter, he would give all Mexico if you asked it.  Tse!  His love consumes him like a fever.”

Alaire stirred uneasily; then she rose and went to an open window, which looked out into the tiny patio with its trickling fountain and its rank, untended plants.  “Why do you insist that he loves me?” she asked.  “All Mexicans are gallant and pay absurd compliments.  It’s just a way they have.  He has never spoken a word that could give offense.”  As Dolores said nothing, she went on, hesitatingly, “I can’t very well refuse to see him, for I don’t possess even a receipt to show that he took those cattle.”

“Oh, you must not offend him,” Dolores agreed, hastily, “or we’d never leave Mexico alive.”  With which cheering announcement the housekeeper heaved a deep sigh and went about her duties with a gloomy face.

Longorio arrived that afternoon, and Alaire received him in the great naked living room of the hacienda, with her best attempt at formality.  But her coolness served not in the least to chill his fervor.

“Senora,” he cried, eagerly, “I have a thousand things to tell you, things of the greatest importance.  They have been upon my tongue for hours, but now that I behold you I grow drunk with delight and my lips frame nothing but words of admiration for your beauty.  So!  I feast my eyes.”  He retained his warm clasp of her fingers, seeming to envelop her uncomfortably with his ardor.