xpression--_noli me tangere_. A native of New Orleans, where duels
occur almost daily, he is up in the _art d'escrime_; and since his
arrival in California has twice called out his man--on the second
occasion killing him.

_Escroc_ as the French might call him; "blackleg" in the English
vocabulary; "sport" in American phrase, Frank Lara is a man with whom no
one who knows him likes to take liberties.

Such are the two men whom Inez Alvarez has facetiously styled types of
Californian "chivalry," while Carmen Montijo has more correctly
described them as typical of its "villainy." And yet to make call on
this very Inez, and this same Carmen, the gentlemen so differently
designated are now on their way!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

CONFESSION OF FEAR.

After having delivered their speeches, so nearly alike in sound, yet so
opposed in sense, the two girls stand for a short time silent, their
faces turned toward the approaching horsemen. These are still more than
a mile off, and to the ordinary eye only distinguishable as mounted men
wearing cloaks--one of scarlet colour, the other sky-blue. But despite
the distance, the others easily identify them, simultaneously, and in
tone contemptuous, pronouncing their names.

"Yes," says Carmen, now speaking in full assurance, with a lorgnette
raised to her eyes--hitherto bent upon the British warship, "in all
California there are no truer types of what I've called them. Do you
think they're coming on to the house, Inez?"

"'Tis very likely; I should say, almost certain."

"What can be bringing them?" mechanically queries Carmen, with an air of
increased vexation.

"Their horses, aunt," rejoins the niece, jestingly.

"Don't jest, _nina_! It's too serious."

"What's too serious?"

"Why, these fellows coming hither. I wonder what they can be wanting?"

"You needn't wonder at that," says Inez, still speaking jocularly. "I
can tell you what one of them wants, that one Don Francisco de Lara. He
is desirous to have a look at the mistress of this mansion."

"And Don Faustino Calderon is no doubt equally desirous to look at her
niece," retorts the other in like bantering tone.

"He's quite welcome. He may look till he strains his ugly eyes out. It
won't make any impression on me."

"I'm sorry I can't say the same for Don Francisco. On me, his looks
_do_ make impression--far from pleasant."

"It wasn't always so, _tia_?"

"No, I admit. I only wish it had been."