And she wheeled her horse about to ride away. Richard made a desperate effort.
“Celinda! I’ve come to tell you I’m sorry.... I came to get my Flor de Rio Negro ... to....”
She softened a little at the note of child-like humility in the young man’s voice; but at once she recovered herself and looked at him unforgivingly.
“Ask alms of God, brother, and go your way. Today I have no alms to give!”
She began to move away; but she stopped long enough to tell him with the cruelty of a spoiled child,
“I don’t like men who ask for pardon. Anyway, I vowed that if you wanted to see me again you’d have to catch me with the rope.... But you’ll never be able to. You’re nothing but a tenderfoot, and a gringo, and you’re awkward and I don’t like you!”
And spurring her horse she went off at a gallop, not however, before casting Richard a look of complete scorn.
He stood distressed by this dismissal, and felt no desire to follow her. Then his vanity took offense as he went over the words that she had thrown at him. She had belittled him as a man, and he was going to get hold of her and show her that he was no tenderfoot nor as awkward as she made out.
Then began a wild race through the ranch, one rider following the other up hill and down, from ridge to gully. Now and then Celinda, who had a great advantage over her pursuer, would rein in her horse as though she wanted to be overtaken; but as soon as he came near, she started off at a gallop again, insulting him with the terms that the gauchos of other days used when they made fun of the awkward Europeans and their lack of skill as riders.
“Clodhopper gringo! Tenderfoot, who doesn’t know one end of a horse from another!”