“Thanks for the compliment. In regard to you, being a planter, it seems quite unlikely that you should be surveying this region in search of a vineyard. It seems to me that I have been fully as frank, sir, as you have.”
Felipe Dulzura lifted an objecting hand.
“I have not finished,” he protested. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I was seeking vineyards here. Far from it. On the contrary, having a little leisure, I am visiting the old missions in this part of the country. They interest me greatly. There was a time, long ago, you know, when this land belonged to my ancestors. My grandfather owned a vast tract of it. That was before gold was discovered and the great rush of ’forty-nine occurred.
“I presume it is needless to state that my grandfather’s title to his lands was regarded as worthless after that and he lost everything. He died a poor man. My father was always very bitter about it, and he retired to Old Mexico where he spent his last days. I am happy to say that he did not transfer his bitterness toward the people of this country to me, and I have found it to my advantage to return here and engage in my present occupation. You should see my vineyard, Mr. Merriwell. I think I have one of the finest in the State.”
The manner in which this statement was made seemed frankly open and aboveboard. To all appearances, Felipe Dulzura had nothing to conceal and was unhesitating in telling his business.
“I, too,” declared Merry, “am interested in the old Spanish missions. They remind me of the days of romance, which seem so far removed.”
“Ah!” cried Dulzura, “then it may happen that we can journey a while in company. That will be agreeable to me. I confess that the trail has been lonely.”
The planter was most agreeable and friendly in his manner, and his smile was exceedingly pleasant. In every way he seemed a most harmless individual, but experience had taught Merry the danger of always trusting to outward appearances.
“Company of the right sort will not be disagreeable to me,” assured Frank.
“Good!” laughed Dulzura. “I am sick of talking to myself, to my horse, or to the landscape. I am a sociable chap, and I like some one to whom I can talk. Do you smoke, Mr. Merriwell? I have tobacco and papers.”