At about two o’clock in the morning they came to a ranch which was guarded by mounted men. Here they all dismounted and went indoors (Hi with them) to what seemed to be a gathering of the clan.
There was a long room, lit by electric light, like all the houses in those hills even at that early age. There was a fire at one end of the room, for the night was cold enough. A maid of enormous strength, with a fine, square, good-humoured face, was making or dispensing maté among the gathering. There were perhaps forty men there, most of them talking at once, yet the room was so big that they did not crowd it.
As the party entered the room, the girl with the verbena scent noticed how weary Hi was.
“You are tired,” she said. “Enrique, this gentleman is weary. Anton, get him a maté.” (Enrique was the Aztec; Anton the nice one.)
“Sit down,” she said, showing a seat which ran round the wall. “Anton will bring you a maté.”
“You sit,” he said. “Let me bring you a maté.” Anton shoved him down on to his seat.
“Our guests do not wait, they are waited on,” he said. “You are not a Red, I am sure, to rob us of the last of all our pleasures.”
“I am a White,” Hi said.
“You are a White?” the girl said. “But we thought all you English were Reds.”
“I’m a heretic, of course,” Hi said, “but a White.”