of sabres, and the echo of
bounding hoofs recommenced. We were again in motion, filing on through
the shadowy woods.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

LUPE AND LUZ.

Shortly after, we debouched from the forest, entering the open fields of
Don Cosme's plantation. There was a flowery brilliance around us, full
of novelty. We had been accustomed to the ruder scenes of a northern
clime. The tropical moon threw a gauzy veil over objects that softened
their outlines; and the notes of the nightingale were the only sounds
that broke the stillness of what seemed a sleeping elysium.

Once a vanilla plantation, here and there the aromatic bean grew wild,
its ground usurped by the pita-plant, the acacia, and the thorny cactus.
The dry reservoir and the ruined _acequia_ proved the care that had in
former times been bestowed on its irrigation. _Guardarayas_ of palms
and orange-trees, choked up with vines and jessamines, marked the
ancient boundaries of the fields. Clusters of fruit and flowers hung
from the drooping branches, and the aroma of a thousand sweet-scented
shrubs was wafted upon the night air. We felt its narcotic influence as
we rode along. The helianthus bowed its golden head, as if weeping at
the absence of its god; and the cereus spread its bell-shaped blossom,
joying in the more mellow light of the moon.

The guide pointed to one of the guardarayas that led to the house. We
struck into it, and rode forward. The path was pictured by the
moonbeams as they glanced through the half-shadowing leaves. A wild roe
bounded away before us, brushing his soft flanks against the rustling
thorns of the mezquite.

Farther on we reached the grounds, and, halting behind the jessamines,
dismounted. Clayley and myself entered the inclosure.

As we pushed through a copse we were saluted by the hoarse bark of a
couple of mastiffs, and we could perceive several forms moving in front
of the rancho. We stopped a moment to observe them.

"_Quitate, Carlo! Pompo_!" (Be off, Carlo! Pompo!) The dogs growled
fiercely, barking at intervals.

"_Papa, mandalos_!" (Papa, order them off!)

We recognised the voices, and pressed forward.

"_Afuera, malditos perros! abajo_!" (Out of the way, wicked dogs!--
down!) shouted Don Cosme, chiding the fierce brutes and driving them
back.

The dogs were secured by several domestics, and we advanced.

"_Quien es_?" inquired Don Cosme.

"_Amigos_" (Friends), I replied.

"_Papa! papa!