.

Nothing could equal Sancho's equanimity in the presence of those he
desired to placate; nothing exceed the frenzy of his wrath when angered
by those whom he could harm without fear of reprisals. Blake was backed
by a troop of horse and the conviction that Sancho was an unmitigated
rascal; therefore were his palpable allusions to be accepted as mere
pleasantries or deprecated as unmerited injustice. Blake had blackened
the character of the ranch _cuisine_, even if he had been unequal to the
task of blackening that of the owner. Blake had declared Sancho's
homestead to be a den of thieves, and the repast tendered the stage
passengers a Barmecide feast--the purport of which was duly reported to
Sancho, who declared he would ultimately carve his opinion of Blake on
that officer's elongated carcass, and until he could find opportunity so
to do it behooved him to lull the suspicions of the prospective victim
by elaborate courtesy of manner, and of this is the Spaniard or his
Mexican half-brother consummate master. Blake left without a glimpse of
his glass, but not without another of "the daughter of my brother" but
recently arrived, and that peep made him desirous of a third. Riding
away, he waved his hand.

"_Adios_, Sancho; _hasta otra vista!_" he had hailed, but his gaze
sought the little window in the adobe wall where a pair of dark,
languorous eyes peered out from between the parted curtains and a dusky
face dodged out of view the instant it saw it was seen. What Sancho said
in answer is not recorded, but now he was watching the coming of the
stage from Yuma. Some one had warned him Lieutenant Blake would return
that way, ordered back to the old post to the north as witness before an
important court-martial.

Those were later termed "the days of the Empire" in Arizona. Perhaps
five thousand souls were counted within its borders at the time our
story opens, not counting the soulless Apaches. Arizona had the
customary territorial equipment of a governor, certain other
officials constituting the cabinet, and a secretary. Nine men
out of the dozen Americans in the only approach to a town it then
possessed--Tucson--would have said "Damfino" if asked who was the
secretary, but all men knew the sheriff. The grave, cigarro-smoking,
serape-shrouded caballeros who rode at will through the plaza and ogled
dark-eyed maidens peeping from their barred windows, could harbor no
interest in the question of who was president of the