Ysobel whimpered that it was not to follow war she had left Mexico and her own people, and like Don Diego she could see no good reason to search for trouble in the hills.
“Then why not stay behind safe walls with the padre?” asked Don Ruy, and Ysobel went dumb and looked at Chico––and the lad shrugged and smiled.
“Has she not married a man?” he queried, “and does not the boy Cupid make women do things most wondrous strange in every land? José would fare as well without her watchful eye, but no power could make her think it,––so come she would on a lop-eared mule despite all my fine logic!”
“You––yourself––would come!” retorted Ysobel, “so what––”
But Chico prodded the mule so that it went frisky and sent its heels in the air, and but for Don Ruy the beast might have left the woman on the ground.
“What imp possesses you to do mischief to the dame?” he demanded––“and why laugh that she follows her husband? When you have more years 255 you may perhaps learn what devotion may mean!”
“Never do I intend to strive for more knowledge of it than I possess at this moment!” declared Chico––“see to what straits it has led that poor girl, who, but for this matter of a man, would have been good and safe working in a convent garden. Small profit this marriage business is!”
“A selfish Jack-a-napes might you be called,” remarked Don Ruy, “and much I wonder that the woman bears patiently your quips. Give us ten more years, and we’ll see you mated and well paid for them!”
“Ten years!”––and the lad whistled,––“let me wait ten of my years and I can wait the rest of them!”
“Name of the devil!” laughed Don Ruy––“if you grow impatient for a mate, we’ll charge yon citadel and capture one for you!”