CHAPTER III.
OLD CENTURY TAKES THE TRAIL
The clatter of horse’s hoofs on the dry sward made Pedro, the shepherd, lift his eyes from his basket weaving, but only for an instant. The sight of Samson, the herder, mounted upon the fleetest animal of the Sobrante stables, was nothing compared to the working out of the intricate pattern he had set himself to follow. Even the centenarian, dwelling in his lofty solitude, knew that there was approaching the blessed Navidad, whereon all good Christians exchanged gifts, in memory of the great gift the Son of God; and what could he do but put forth his utmost ingenuity to please his heart’s dearest, even Jessica of the sunny face?
Like Aunt Sally, at the ranch, he had, at last, caught a feeling of haste and wished not to be disturbed; so he did not even look up again when he was accosted.
“Hello, old man! Hard at it, still?”
No reply forthcoming, Samson shouted, as if the shepherd were deaf:
“Where’s Capt. Jess, abuleo (grandfather)?”
The deferential title won the attention which the loud voice could not gain, and Pedro glanced carelessly upon the mighty herder, a mere youth of sixty summers, and replied, with equal carelessness:
“Am I the nina’s[A] keeper? But, no,” then resumed his weaving.