“It’s chiefly the young people who are dancing now,” he observed. “But you’ll notice men and women of all ages around in the seats. They will become intoxicated with the joy of it all—and maybe with other things—later in the night, and then the dancing will begin in earnest.”
For the moment an old type of fandango was being danced—a dance not wholly unlike a quadrille, in that it admitted a number of persons to the set and afforded opportunity for certain individual exhibitions of skill.
And then Harboro, glancing beyond Valdez, observed that a man of mature years—a Mexican—was regarding Sylvia fixedly. He could not help believing that there was something of insolence, too, in the man’s gaze.
He lowered his voice and spoke to Valdez: “That man sitting by himself over there, the fourth—the fifth—from us. Do you know him?”
Valdez turned casually and seemed to be taking in the general scene. He brought his glance back to Harboro without seeming to have noticed anything in particular.
“That’s one of your most—er—conspicuous citizens,” he said with a smile. “His name is Mendoza—Jesus Mendoza. I’m surprised you’ve never met him.”
“I never have,” replied Harboro. He got up and took a new position so that he sat between Sylvia and Mendoza, cutting off the view of her.
She had caught the name. She glanced interestedly at the man called Jesus Mendoza. She could not remember ever to have seen him before; but she was curious to know something about the man whose wife had been kind to her, and whose life seemed somehow tragically lonely.
Mendoza made no sign of recognition of Harboro’s displeasure. He arose with a purposeless air and went farther along the stockade wall. Sylvia’s glance followed him. She had not taken in the fact that the man’s presence, or anything that he had done, had annoyed Harboro. She was wondering what kind of man it was who had captivated and held the woman who had filled her boudoir with passionate music, and who knew how to keep an expressionless mask in place so skilfully that no one on the border really knew her.
The fandango came to an end, and the smooth earth which constituted the floor of the enclosure was vacated for an instant. Then the musicians began a favorite Mexican waltz, and there was a scurrying of young men and women for places. There was an eager movement along the rows of seats by young fellows who sought partners for the waltz. Custom permitted any man to seek any disengaged woman and invite her to dance with him.