“Thank you; I don’t smoke.”
“Ah, you miss one of the soothing friends of life. When I have no other company, my cigarette serves as one. This beastly valley is hot enough! The mountains shut it in and cut off all the cool breezes. However, ere nightfall we should get safely out of it and come to San Monica Mission. It lies yonder near the old Indian reservation. I have heard my father tell of it, and it has long been my object to see it.”
For some little time they chatted, Dulzura seeming to be in the most communicative mood, but finally they prepared to go on together. When they were ready Frank suggested that his companion lead the way, as it was far more likely that he knew the trail better.
“No, no, Mr. Merriwell,” was the protest. “There is but one trail here. Like you, I have never passed over it. You were in advance; it would scarcely be polite for me to take the lead.”
Frank, however, had no thought of placing himself with his back turned on the self-styled planter, and, therefore, he insisted that Dulzura should proceed in advance, to which the latter acquiesced. As they rode on through the somewhat stifling heat of the valley, the Spaniard continued to talk profusely, now and then turning his head and smiling back at Merry.
“Next year,” he said, “I mean to visit Spain. I have never been there, you know. Years and years ago my ancestors lived there. I trust you will pardon the seeming egotism, Mr. Merriwell, if I say it’s not poor blood that runs in my veins. My ancestors far back were grandees. Did you ever hear of the Costolas? It’s likely not. There were three branches of the family. I am a descendant of one branch.”
“Costola?” murmured Frank. “The name seems familiar to me, but I presume there are many who bear it.”
“Quite true. As for our family, however, an old feud has nearly wiped it out. It started in politics, and it divided the Costolas against themselves. A divided house, you know, cannot stand. My grandmother was a Costola. She was compelled to leave Spain. At that time another branch of the family was in power. Since then things have changed. Since then that powerful branch of the family has declined and fallen. It was not so many years ago that the sole surviving member was compelled, like my grandmother, to escape secretly from Spain. He came to this country and here lived under another name, taking that of his mother’s family. I don’t even remember the name he assumed after reaching America; but I did know that the surviving Costolas hunted him persistently, although he managed to evade and avoid them. What has become of him now is likewise a mystery. Perhaps he is dead.”
The speaker suddenly turned so that he could look fairly into Frank’s face, smiling a little, and said: