Juanito, taking the cue from his parents, flung himself whole-heartedly into the task of entertainment, and since Alaire met his advances halfway he began, before long, to look upon her with particular favor.  Once they had thoroughly made friends, he showered her with the most flattering attentions.  His shyness, it seemed, was but a pretense—­at heart he was a bold and enterprising fellow—­and so, as a mark of his admiration, he presented her with all his personal treasures.  First he fetched and laid in her lap a cigar-box wagon with wooden wheels—­ evidently the handiwork of his father.  Then he gave her, one by one, a highly prized blue bottle, a rusty Mexican spur, and the ruins of what had been a splendid clasp knife.  There were no blades in the knife, but he showed her how to peep through a tiny hole in the handle, where was concealed the picture of a dashing Spanish bullfighter.  The appreciation which these gifts evoked intoxicated the little man and roused him to a very madness of generosity.  He pattered away and returned shortly, staggering and grunting under the weight of another and a still greater offering.  It was a dog—­a patient, hungry dog with very little hair.  The animal was alive with fleas—­it scratched absent-mindedly with one hind paw, even while Juanito strangled it against his naked breast—­but it was the apple of its owner’s eye, and when Inez unfeelingly banished it from the house Juanito began to squall lustily.  Nor could he be conciliated until Alaire took him upon her knee and told him about another boy, of precisely his own age and size, who planted a magic bean in his mother’s dooryard, which grew up and up until it reached clear to the sky, where a giant lived.  Juanito Garcia had never heard the like.  He was spellbound with delight; he held his breath in ecstasy; only his toes moved, and they wriggled like ten fat, brown tadpoles.

In the midst of this recital Garcia senior appeared in the door with a warning.

“Conceal yourselves,” he said, quickly.  “Some of our neighbors are coming this way.”  Inez led her guests into the bedchamber, a bare room with a dirt floor, from the window of which they watched Juan go to meet a group of horsemen.  Inez went out, too, and joined in the parley.  Then, after a time, the riders galloped away.

When Alaire, having watched the party out of sight, turned from the window she found that Dave had collapsed upon a chair and was sleeping, his limbs relaxed, his body sagging.

“Poor fellow, he’s done up,” Father O’Malley exclaimed.

“Yes; he hasn’t slept for days,” she whispered.  “Help me.”  With the assistance of Dolores they succeeded in lifting Dave to the bed, but he half roused himself.  “Lie down, dear,” Alaire told him.  “Close your eyes for a few minutes.  We’re safe now.”

“Somebody has to keep watch,” he muttered, thickly, and tried to fight off his fatigue.  But he was like a drunken man.