“So fur’s thet’s consarned, I reck’n we do. But she, bein’ a Mexikin, may hev queery ideas about it; an’ I want her promise guv in tarms from which thar’ll be no takin’ the back track; same’s I meen to give myen.”
“All right, old fellow. I’ll see you get such a promise, or none.”
“Thet’s satisfactory, Frank. Now, as this chile air agoin’ to put the thing stiff an’ strong, do you transleet it in the same sort.”
“Trust me, it shall be done—verbatim et literatim.”
“Thet’s the way!” joyfully exclaims Walt; thinking that the verbatim et literatim—of the meaning of which he has not the slightest conception—will be just the thing to clinch his bargain with Conchita.
The singular contract between the prairie merchant and his ci-devant guide has just reached conclusion as a rustling is heard among the branches of the cottonwoods, accompanied by a soft footstep.
Looking around, they see Conchita threading her way through the grove. Her steps, cautious and stealthy, would tell of an “appointment,” even were this not already known to them. Her whole bearing is that of one on the way to meet a lover; and the sight of Walt Wilder, who now rises erect to receive her, proclaims him to be the man.
It might appear strange that she does not shy back, on seeing him in company with another man. She neither starts nor shows any shyness; evidence that the presence of the third party is a thing understood and pre-arranged.
She advances without show of timidity; and, curtseying to the “Señor Francisco,” as she styles Hamersley, takes seat upon the log from which he has arisen; Walt laying hold of her hand and gallantly conducting her to it.