before I meet the _padrino_. There's several families of those Travinos
over around the Mission and I want to locate which tribe this _oso_
comes from. Some of them are good people and some of them need a rope
around their necks, and in a case of keeps like getting married, it's
always safe to know what's what and who's who. Now, Sis, go on back in
the house and entertain the Don. Come with me, Tom."

I saw our plans for the morrow vanish into thin air. On arriving at the
jacal, we were admitted, but a gloom like the pall of death seemed to
envelop the old Mexican couple. When we had taken seats around a small
table, Tia Inez handed the ranchero the formal written request. As it
was penned in Spanish, it was passed to me to read, and after running
through it hastily, I read it aloud, several times stopping to interpret
to Uncle Lance certain extravagant phrases. The salutatory was in the
usual form; the esteem which each family had always entertained for the
other was dwelt upon at length, and choicer language was never used than
the _padrino_ penned in asking for the hand of Dona Juana. This dainty
missive was signed by the godfather of the swain, Don Alejandro Travino,
whose rubric riotously ran back and forth entirely across the delicately
tinted sheet. On the conclusion of the reading, Uncle Lance brushed the
letter aside as of no moment, and, turning to the old couple, demanded
to know to which branch of the Travino family young Don Blas belonged.

The account of Tiburcio and his wife was definite and clear. The father
of the swain conducted a small country store at the Mission, and besides
had landed and cattle interests. He was a younger brother of Don
Alejandro, who was the owner of a large land grant, had cattle in
abundance, and was a representative man among the Spanish element. No
better credentials could have been asked. But when their patron rallied
them as to the cause of their gloom, Tia Inez burst into tears,
admitting the match was satisfactory, but her baby would be carried away
from Las Palomas and she might never see her again. Her two sons who
lived at the ranch, allowed no day to pass without coming to see their
mother, and the one who lived at a distant ranchita came at every
opportunity. But if her little girl was carried away to a distant
ranch--ah! that made it impossible! Let Don Lance, worthy patron of his
people, forbid the match, and win the gratitude of an anguished mother.
Invoking the