uld leave Arispe to place himself at their head.

This rumour, hitherto only conjecture, proved to be correct; for at one
of the dinners given by the hospitable Spaniard, he announced to his
guests that in three days he intended to start for Tubac.

During the progress of this same dinner, a messenger was introduced into
the dining-room, who handed to Don Estevan a letter, an answer to which
he awaited.

The Spaniard, begging of his guests to excuse him for a moment, broke
the seal and read the letter.

As there was a certain mystery about the habits of their convivial host,
the guests were silent for a while--all watching his movements and the
play of his features; but the impassible countenance of Don Estevan did
not betray a single emotion that was passing his mind, even to the most
acute observer around the table. In truth he was a man who well knew
how to dissemble his thoughts, and perhaps on that very occasion, more
than any other, he required all his self-command.

"It is well," he said, calmly addressing himself to the messenger.
"Take my answer to him who sent you, that I will be punctual to the
rendezvous in three days from the present."

With this answer the messenger took his departure. Don Estevan, turning
to his guests, again apologised for his impoliteness; and the dinner for
an instant suspended once more progressed with renewed activity.

Nevertheless the Spaniard appeared more thoughtful than before; and his
guests did not doubt but that he had received some news of more than
ordinary interest.

We shall leave them to their conjectures, and precede Don Estevan to the
mysterious rendezvous which had been given him, and the scene of which
was to be a small village lying upon the route to the Presidio of Tubac.

The whole country between Arispe and the Presidio in question may be
said to be almost uninhabited. Along the route only mean hovels are
encountered, with here and there a _hacienda_ of greater pretensions.
These houses are rarely solitary, but collected in groups at long
distances apart. Usually a day's journey lies between them, and,
consequently, they are the stopping-places for travellers, who may be on
their way towards the frontier. But the travellers are few, and the
inhabitants of these miserable hovels pass the greater part of their
lives in the middle of a profound solitude. A little patch of Indian
corn which they cultivate,--a few head of cattle, which, fed upon the
pe