"Nay; but, Señor—" he was interrupted by the jubilant bray of a pack-mule which had divined the end of the march. When he would have continued Pedro was badgering a muleteer. The stranger entered the cantina—and Fate rode down upon the unsuspecting Pedro.
The rear guard approached. Sure enough, there were three señoras, two heavily veiled, riding mules. Pedro was bowing profoundly.
"Welcome, Señoras! Welcome to the land of gold. 'T is a Heaven's blessing to look once more upon your kind."
They inclined their heads graciously and Pedro raised his eyes to the third, some paces in the rear. As he bowed again he was conscious of a buxom figure, strangely bedight in a rusty corselet and a man's sombrero which showed marks of the hard journey, its limp rim hanging tow about a face which he saw only partly. She was astride, he noted, with a huge battle-axe at her saddle-bow, and a ponderous spur on a foot of goodly size.
The lady glanced at him, gasped, reined up with vigor, and shouted in a voice of joyful surprise, "Pedro!"
Pedro straightened with a jerk and staggered against the wall.
"Pedro!" she shouted again. She urged her steed across the street with a series of jabs of her spurs, and tumbled out of the saddle, a confusion of petticoats, arms, legs, and a flapping sombrero. Dropping the reins, she charged the cook, who stood transfixed to the wall, powerless.
"Pedro, as I live!" she cried, seizing his hands. "Oh, Pedro, thou graceless, fat, one-legged darling of a cook, I was never more joyed in my life!"
Pedro struggled in her grasp, speechless, his face reddening violently, as she held him at arm's length, surveying him with pleasure.
"And 't is thou!" she exclaimed. "Hold, whilst I look at thee—stop squirming, thou lubber! Yes, I'd know thee in a brigade, even did I not see thy peg. But why dost not greet me, Pedro? Greet me, sinner! Dost think I've journeyed a thousand leagues over sea and mountain to be received like a cold omelet? Fie, Pedro!"