“I open my lips this once, and after that, señor, perhaps you will go back up El Camino Real and admit yourself a beaten man. San Diego de Alcalá has a name for hospitality, it is true, but there is none even here for Captain Fly-by-Night.”
“It seems to me,” said the caballero, “that I have heard that name before.”
“It is known from San Francisco de Asis to San Diego de Alcalá, señor, without credit to the man who bears it.”
“Indeed?”
“We play at words, señor, and that is not necessary. News of your coming was received several days ago. When the news went up El Camino Real that the good Señor Fernandez had gone the way of all flesh and left to his fair daughter, Anita, and her very distant relative, Rojerio Rocha, the fortune and broad acres he had acquired by a lifetime of hard work and danger, you boasted, before the body of the señor was scarcely cold in the ground, that here was a fair maid and a fortune to be won, and that you could and would win them.”
“I boasted that, eh?”
“’Tis well known, Captain Fly-by-Night. You boasted loudly. Even when it became known that Rojerio Rocha was to come down El Camino Real from distant San Francisco de Asis and wed his distant relative, and be the head of the great rancho, you boasted that, betrothal or no, you’d win Señorita Anita and the rancho would be yours.”
“Indeed, señor?”
“Many a mission and presidio, and many a rancho, you have visited during your career, Captain Fly-by-Night, always to leave behind you broken hearts and empty purses. Your skill with the cards and dice, it is said, is such as to be almost supernatural. There is another explanation for it, of course. Your way with women, too, has been made notorious. But never did you come near San Diego de Alcalá while Señor Fernandez was alive, knowing well what to expect if you did. Now that he is dead, you dare to come, after making your boasts.”
“I am learning things regarding myself,” said the caballero.