“And why not?” he said to himself. “This is a woman, like those that dance at the boliche ... aren’t they all the same?”
Elena and her escorts went on along the river bank. Suddenly Elena straightened up in her saddle so as to be able to see farther into the distance.
In a meadow edged on the river side with young willows, were two horses, saddled but not hitched. A man and a boy stood at the far end of the meadow practising throwing the rope. The lariat they were using seemed to be a light one, less heavy and rapid in the air than the lassoos of woven leather that the native cow-punchers used.
More by instinct than by strength of sight, Elena recognized the boy. Undoubtedly that was Flor de Rio Negro teaching Watson to throw the rope, and laughing at the gringo’s clumsy attempts to master the whirling, snake-like coils. Richard too, now that Torre Bianca went daily to direct the canal work, was enjoying more liberty, and was using it to follow the Rojas girl about in her rides and share in her childish games.
Indicating to her companions that they were not to follow her, Elena rode towards the meadow.
Celinda however was quicker to notice her than was Watson. With a sudden right-about she turned her back on the intruder, and at the same time ordered Watson to fix one of her spurs, which, so she said, had come loose.
The youth, after kneeling at her feet for a moment, found the spur quite firmly in place, and was about to get up. But she was determined to keep him on his knees.
“I tell you, gringuito, that I’m going to lose it! Please fasten it better!”
And it was only when she saw that Elena, offended, and well aware of the girl’s hostility and strategem, had turned her horse about and was riding away, that she allowed him to get up.
A little before sunset Elena’s party rode up the main street of the town. In front of Pirovani’s house, which she now looked upon as hers, Elena dismounted, leaning on Moreno, who, as she stepped to the ground, had anticipated the Captain’s move to help her.