ht her by her mother; anon some
romantic lay of Old Spain--the "Troubadour," perhaps--a fine piece of
music, that gives such happy expression to the modern song "Love not."
This "Troubadour" was a favourite with Rosita; and when she took up her
bandolon, and accompanied herself with its guitar-like notes, the
listener would be delighted.

She was now singing to beguile the hours and lighten her task; and
although not accompanied by any music, her silvery voice sounded sweet
and clear.

The mother had laid aside her pipe of _punche_, and was busy as Rosita
herself. She spun the threads with which the rebosos were woven. If
the loom was a simple piece of mechanism, much more so was the
spinning-machine--the "huso," or "malacate"--which was nothing more or
less than the "whirligig spindle." Yet with this primitive apparatus
did the old dame draw out and twist as smooth a thread as ever issued
from the "jenny."

"Poor dear Carlos! One, two, three, four, five, six--six notches I have
made--he is just in his sixth day. By this time he will be over the
Llano, mother. I hope he will have good luck, and get well treated of
the Indians."

"Never fear, nina--my brave boy has his father's rifle, and knows how to
use it--well he does. Never fear for Carlos!"

"But then, mother, he goes in a new direction! What if he fall in with
a hostile tribe?"

"Never fear, nina! Worse enemies than Indians has Carlos--worse enemies
nearer home--cowardly slaves! they hate us--both _Gachupinos_ and
_Criollos_ hate us--Spanish dogs! they hate our Saxon blood!"

"Oh, mother, say not so! They are not _all_ our enemies. We have some
friends."

Rosita was thinking of Don Juan.

"Few--few--and far between! What care I while my brave son is there?
He is friend enough for us. Soft heart--brave heart--strong arm--who
like my Carlos? And the boy loves his old mother--his strange old
mother, as these _pelados_ think her. He still loves his old mother.
Ha! ha! ha! What, then, cares she for friends? Ha! ha! ha!"

Her speech ended in a laugh of triumph, showing how much she exulted in
the possession of such a son.

"O my! what a _carga_, mother! He never had such a carga before! I
wonder where Carlos got all the money?"

Rosita did not know exactly where; but she had some fond suspicions as
to who had stood her brother's friend.

"_Ay de mi_!" she continued; "he will be very rich if he gets a good
market for all those fine th