"Rafael mio!" she cried, clinging to him, "for the love of God!"
"Marta!" he cried, and dropped the weapon. "I—did I not tell you—"
He broke off vaguely, and avoided Fernando's eyes; that young man laughed good-naturedly.
"Another illustrious friend whose husband goes on long voyages!" he said, lightly. "I leave you, my friend, until you are sober. Señorita, adios."
Rafael stared moodily at the girl. She was a pretty bit of bronze flesh with passionate eyes.
"I told you to stay on the ranch," he said at last; but she broke into tears and caught his hands.
"I could not! They all know—the old woman and the priest. They thought I was dying, and he came and I had to tell him the name of the child's father; and—and when my own father comes back from the herding he will beat me, and I will not stay! I will not! He is not a fine gentleman, Rafael; he is only a herder who was a soldier in Mexico. Fine words would not count with him, unless it would be words before the priest, and you promised—"
"Jesus, Maria, and Joseph!" burst out Rafael. "What an hour to come with a list of a man's promises! I've been up all night, and I'd fight with the saints if they came my way. Go, Marta; I will tell Antonio to make a home for you away from the crazy herder. I—I am very busy; I start south in an hour."
"But, Rafael—"
"Well—well?"