"I have heard nothing from him, Señor Don Beltran. Juan Rotiro told me many things, but the Señor knows what Juan Rotiro is when the pink rum gets into his judgment. He says that the Señor E'cobeda will soon return, and that there will be fighting, but it seems to me that the Señor Don Gil can hold his own. Como no! when he has the law on his side."
"Law," Beltran laughed. "Do you suppose rascals like Escobeda care for law? Besides, he has the Governor on his side. He pays large sums for so-called concessions; that I know, and the Governor winks both eyes very fast at anything that Escobeda chooses to do. Did you hear anything about his getting that band from Troja together?"
"Caramba! yes, Señor Don Beltran! It was spoken under the breath, and just from one peon to the other. They did not know much."
Don Beltran arose. "I think I will ride over to Palmacristi, Agueda; get me my spur. Would you like to come, child?"
Agueda shook her head, and ran into the sitting-room to hide her confusion. Her face was a dull crimson as she took the spur down from the nail.
"The espuela is dusty; shall brighten it, Señor?"
"Call old Juana. I will not have you soil your pretty hands, child, on my spur. The grey, Pablo," he shouted toward the rambling structure that was dignified by the name of stable.
"And why not come with me, Agueda?"
Agueda bent over her stitching.