"All Mexicans except Sandy and Pete!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet scornfully.
"I'll agree to furnish a boy apiece for the festive occasion," said Uncle Cliff; and Blue Bonnet, exchanging a glance with him, knew he was nursing a well-laid scheme. "Now, listen," he continued. "I've been thinking over this thing—had time to think this last week!—and I've got it all figured out. My idea is to have an all-day affair, a real old-fashioned Spanish tournament."
Blue Bonnet clapped her hands. "Oh, Uncle Cliff, you do think of the most glorious things!"
"In the morning," Uncle Cliff went on, "we could have a steer-roping contest—the Mexicans adore that—and Señorita Ashe bestow the prizes. And then—"
"Some bronco-busting," suggested Uncle Joe. Blue Bonnet turned pale and Uncle Cliff kicked his foreman under the table.
"None of that," he said briefly. "Too crude for our select company."
"A bull-fight, then," Uncle Joe persisted, "—that's Spanish, and the most seeleck ladies adore the ring."
"Oh, no!" cried Blue Bonnet, before she caught the gleam of mischief in the speaker's eye.
"We might have some races in the pasture," Alec suggested.
"Sure!" exclaimed Uncle Cliff. "And end with a grand fête in the evening,—and give everybody a holiday."