by oxen. One man only
was on horseback, who, by his dress and manner, could be recognised as
the owner of the atajo.

Despite the fatigue of a long march, despite the coating of dust which
covered both horse and rider, it was not difficult to tell who the
horseman was. Carlos the cibolero!

Thus far had he reached on his homeward way. Another stretch of five
miles along the dusty road, and it would halt before the door of his
humble rancho. Another hour, and his aged mother, his fond sister,
would fling themselves into his arms, and receive his affectionate
embrace!

What a surprise it would be! They would not be expecting him for
weeks--long weeks.

And what a surprise he had for them in another way! His wonderful luck!
The superb mulada and cargo,--quite a little fortune indeed! Rosita
should have a new dress,--not a coarse woollen nagua, but one of silk,
real foreign silk, and a manta, and the prettiest pair of satin
slippers--she should wear fine stockings on future fiesta days--she
should be worthy of his friend Don Juan. His old mother, too--she
should drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, which she preferred--no more
_atole_ for her!

The rancho was rude and old--it should come down, and another and better
one go up in its place--no--it would serve as a stable for the horse,
and the new rancho should be built beside it. In fact, the sale of his
mulada would enable him to buy a good strip of land, and stock it well
too.

What was to hinder him to turn ranchero, and farm or graze on his own
account? It would be far more respectable, and would give him a higher
standing in the settlement. Nothing to hinder him. He would do so; but
first one more journey to the plains--one more visit to his Waco
friends, who had promised him--Ha! it was this very promise that was the
keystone of all his hopes.

The silk dress for Rosita, the luxuries for his old mother, the new
house, the farm, were all pleasant dreams to Carlos; but he indulged a
dream of a still pleasanter nature--a dream that eclipsed them all; and
his hopes of its realisation lay in that one more visit to the country
of the Wacoes.

Carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separated
him from Catalina. He knew that her father was not, properly speaking,
one of the "rico" class. True, he was a rico now: but only a few years
ago he had been a poor "gambucino"--poor as Carlos himself. In fact,
they had once been nearer neighbo