, when Pereo, not displeased with this evidence of
his power over his countrymen, condescendingly offered to click glasses
with him, that he endeavored to placate him still further.

"It is a pity your worship was not here earlier," he began, with a
significant glance at the others, "to have seen a gallant young
stranger that was here. A spice of wickedness about him, truly--a kind
of Don Caesar--but bearing himself like a very caballero always. It
would have pleased your worship, who likes not those canting Puritans
such as our neighbor yonder."

"Ah," said Pereo, reflectively, warming under the potent fires of
flattery and aguardiente, "possibly I HAVE seen him. He was like--"

"Like none of the dogs thou hast seen about San Antonio," interrupted
the landlord. "Scarcely did he seem Americano, though he spoke no
Spanish."

The old man chuckled to himself viciously. "And thou, thou old fool,
Pereo, must needs see a likeness to thine enemy in this poor runaway
child--this fugitive Don Juan! He! he!" Nevertheless, he still felt a
vague terror of the condition of mind which had produced this fancy,
and drank so deeply to dispel his nervousness that it was with
difficulty he could mount his horse again. The exaltation of liquor,
however, appeared only to intensify his characteristics: his face
became more lugubrious and melancholy; his manner more ceremonious and
dignified; and, erect and stiff in his saddle from the waist upwards,
but leaning from side to side with the motion of his horse, like the
tall mast of some laboring sloop, he "loped" away towards the House of
the Lost Mission. Once or twice he broke into sentimental song.
Strangely enough, his ditty was a popular Spanish refrain of some
matador's aristocratic inamorata:--

Do you see my black eyes?
I am Manuel's Duchess,--

sang Pereo, with infinite gravity. His horse's hoofs seemed to keep
time with the refrain, and he occasionally waved in the air the long
leather thong of his bridle-rein.

It was quite late when he reached La Mision Perdida. Turning into the
little lane that led to the stable-yard, he dismounted at a gate in the
hedge which led to the summerhouse of the old Mision garden, and,
throwing his reins on his mustang's neck, let the animal precede him to
the stables. The moon shone full on the inclosure as he emerged from
the labyrinth. With uncovered head he approached the Indian mound, and
sank on his knees before it.