Brown looked at the tall, gray man. "I reck'n you're the little girl's pop," he observed. "She favors you mightily in every way, 'cept in size and age. Met her again the other day in San José. We was tickled to death to see one another."
"So you are Brown.. I am very glad to meet you. Allow me to thank you for your generous kindness to my daughter and the lady with her that night in the cave."
Mendoza advanced, his hand extended in hearty greeting. The American took the proffered hand with a viselike grip.
"You bet I'm Brown—Simon James Brown. Saint Louis, Missouri, is my post office address. I'm proud to know ye, sir."
The señor recovered his hand from Brown after it had been given a series of pump-handle shakes.
"What me and the Cap'n did for your folks the night of the freshet gave us as much pleasure as it did them," Brown continued in a mincing way, as if the occasion demanded some special effort from him.
"I regret that I did not have opportunity that night to thank you and your captain."
Brown wagged his head in a friendly way. "Curious feller is the Cap'n. Mind, he's a decent chap to work for and all that. I like him better all the time; but his ways are past finding out, you bet."
Mendoza bowed courteously to the stranger and smiled obligingly. "What you see before you, Señor Brown, is yours. Will you not enter?" He waved his hands over grounds and house.
Brown looked dubiously at the other. The señor's suave dignity forbade the thought that he was joking.