"You say I'm sitting in the game and the stake is large. Well said, perhaps. But remember, if I play I'll use the card that means the most to the province of California." The señor again nodded, as if retailing some pleasantry of the day.
O'Donnell rode away.
"Papacito!" called Carmelita. "It is late. We are waiting."
In a moment they were with their guests.
Folding doors opened and the well-lighted dining room was before them.
At once dinner was under way. The peons, trained by Mendoza, served well. The generous hospitality of early California found expression in the viands and vintages which Mendoza offered his guests. Peons touched fitting music from stringed instruments; others sang in the melodious voice of the aborigine.
"Señorita Mendoza, heard you not that the great spring merienda comes early this year by reason of the drought?" asked Captain Morando.
"Does a picnic so interest you, Comandante Morando?"
"Never have I seen such a picnic as must be the spring merienda in the valley of Calaveras. Everywhere I hear people speak of it."
"Soon you may judge of its excellence for yourself. Now begins to sing my peona, Modesta. Her voice equals in sweetness the notes of the thrush. Listen, while she gives the ancient airs of Oroysom. They are heart-touching and beautiful."