"Anything else to say, sergeant?"

"Nothing, colonel, except that the girl has a sweetheart--the same young
fellow who bet so heavily against you at the fiesta."

"The devil!" exclaimed Vizcarra, while a deep shadow crossed his
forehead.

"He, indeed! I suspected that. Where does he live?"

"Not far above them, colonel. He is the owner of a rancho, and is
reputed rich--that is for a ranchero."

"Help yourself to a glass of Catalan, sergeant."

The trooper stretched out his hand, laid hold of a bottle, and, having
filled one of the glasses, bowed respectfully to the officers, and drank
off the brandy at a draught. Seeing that he was not wanted further, he
touched his shako and withdrew.

"So, camarado, you see it is right enough, so far as you are concerned."

"And for you also!" replied Roblado.

"Not exactly."

"Why not?"

"I don't like the story of this sweetheart--this ranchero. The fellow
possesses money--a spirit, too, that may be troublesome. He's not the
man one would be called upon to fight--at least not one in my position;
but _he_ is one of these people--what the cibolero is not--and has their
sympathies with him. It would be a very different thing to get involved
with him in an affair. Bah! what need I care? I never yet failed.
Good night, camarado!"

"_Buenos noches_!" replied Roblado; and both, rising simultaneously from
the table, retired to their respective sleeping-rooms.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The "ranchos" and "haciendas" of the valley extended nearly ten miles
along the stream below San Ildefonso. Near the town they were studded
more thickly; but, as you descended the stream, fewer were met with, and
those of a poorer class. The fear of the "Indios bravos" prevented
those who were well off from building their establishments at any great
distance from the Presidio. Poverty, however, induced others to risk
themselves nearer the frontier; and, as for several years the settlement
had not been disturbed, a number of small farmers and graziers had
established themselves as far as eight or ten miles distance below the
town.

Half-a-mile beyond all these stood an isolated dwelling--the last to be
seen in going down the valley. It seemed beyond the pale of
protection--so far as the garrison was concerned--for no patrol ever
extended its rounds to so distant a point. Its owner evidently trusted
to fate, or to the clemency of the Apaches--the Indians who usually
troubled the set