her attitude, her every gesture, were in the most complete
"keeping" with her costume.

She was not one of the dancers, but stood among the spectators, and, if
I were to pronounce from the glances she bestowed upon the circle,
not one of the most admiring there; her features either wearing an
expression of passive indifference, or changing to a half smile of
scornful contempt. As, with an interest which increased at each moment,
I watched her movements, I saw that her scarf was gently pulled by a
hand from behind; she turned abruptly, and, with a gesture of almost
ineffable scorn, said some few words, and then moved proudly away to
another part of the "court."

Through the vacant spot she had quitted I was able to see him who had
addressed her. He was a young, powerfully built fellow, in the dress of
a mountaineer, and, though evidently of the peasant class, his dress and
arms evinced that he was well to do in the world; the gold drop of his
sombrero, the rich bullion tassels of his sash, the massive spurs of
solid silver, being all evidences of wealth. Not even the tan-colored
hue of his dark face could mask the flush of anger upon it as the girl
moved off, and his black eyes, as they followed, glowed like fire. To my
amazement, his glance was next bent upon me, and that with an expression
of hatred there was no mistaking. At first, I thought it might have been
mere fancy on my part; then I explained it as the unvanished cloud still
lingering on his features; but at last I saw plainly that the insulting
looks were meant for myself. Let me look which side I would, let me
occupy my attention how I might, the fellow's swarthy, sullen face never
turned from me for an instant.

I suppose something must have betrayed to my companion what was passing
within me, for Seth whispered in my ear, "Take no notice of him,--he's a
Ranchero; and they are always bad uns to deal with."

"But what cause of quarrel can he have with me?" said I; "we never saw
each other before."

"Don't you see what it is?" said Seth. "It's the muchacha: she's his
sweetheart, and she's been a-looking too long this way to please him."

"Well, if the girl has got such good taste," said I, with a saucy
laugh, "he ought to prize her the more for it."

"She _is_ a neat un, that's a fact," muttered Seth; and at the same
instant the girl walked proudly up to where I stood, and, making a low
courtesy before me, held out her hand. I suppose there must have be