ake their little wagers. The men were betting
ranchitas, horses, cattle, and, finally, their jewels and saddles and
serapes. For each horse represented a different district of the
Department, and there was much rivalry.

The priest did not shout, and he made no more bets, but his eyes never
left those figures speeding like arrows from the bow, the riders
motionless as if but the effigies of men strapped to the creatures of
fire beneath. Sometimes the black gained then the little bronze; once
the white dashed a full three yards beyond his fellows, and Roldan saw
the great hands of the priest, which had been clinched against his
shoulders, open spasmodically, then close harder than ever as the white
quickly dropped back again.

It was a very close race. The excitement grew tense and painful. Even
Roldan felt it finally, and forgot the priest. The big bronze had quite
dropped out of it and was lagging homeward, hardly greeted by a hiss.
The others were almost neck and neck, the little bronze slightly in the
lead. "She wins," thought Roldan, "No! No! The black! the black! Ay,
no, the bronze! but no! no! Ay! Ay! Ay!" A roar went up that ended in a
shriek. The black had won.

Roldan looked at the priest. His skin was livid, his nostrils
twitching. But his mouth and eyes told nothing.

The crowd rode home, still excited, gay, cheerful. Their losses
mattered not. Were not their acres numbered by the hundred thousand?
Did they not have more horses and cattle than they would ever count? In
those days of pleasure and plenty, of luxury and unconsidered
generosity, a rancho, a caponara the less, meant a loss neither to be
felt nor remembered.

After the bountiful supper the guests loitered for a time in the
courtyard, then the sala was cleared and the dance began. Several of
the girls danced alone, while the caballeros clapped and shouted. Then
all waltzed or took part in their only square dance, the contradanza.
They kept it up until morning. Needless to say, our heroes went to bed
at an early hour.

They were up the next morning with the dawn, and in company with Rafael
and the other guests of their own age, went for their canter. This time
they avoided the hills behind the Mission, as they had no wish to share
their secret, and a chance word might divulge all. They rode toward the
hills at the head of the valley. Roldan was still the hero of the hour,
and Rafael, although the most generous of boys, resented it a little.
H