ssed no opportunity to get in a word against the
gringos, and incidentally against those Mexicans who betrayed their
fellows by advising them to sell their lands. He never mentioned Alcatraz
by name, but he made it clear enough to whom he referred.

Late in the evening, when all were mellowed by drink and excited by
dancing, he gained the attention of the gathering on the pretext of
announcing a special dance, and boldly gave a harangue in which he urged
all Mexicans to stick together against the gringos, and above all not to
sell their homes which their fathers had won from the barbarians, and were
the foundations of their prosperity and freedom.

"Remember," he urged them in a burst of eloquence that surprised himself,
"that in your veins is the blood of conquerors--blood which was poured out
on these hills and valleys to win them from the Indians, precious blood
which has made this land priceless to you for all time!"

His speech was greeted with a burst of applause unquestionably
spontaneous. It filled him with a sense of power that was almost
intoxicating. In the town he might be neglected, despised, picked for an
easy mark, but here among his own people he was a ruler and leader by
birth.

The most important result of the _baile_ was that it won over the stubborn
Alcatraz. He did not attend it, but he knew what happened there. He
realized that advice in favour of selling land would not be popular in
that section for a long time, and he acknowledged his defeat by inviting
Ramon to dinner at his house, and driving a shrewd bargain with him,
whereby he gave his influence in exchange for certain grazing privileges.

On his way home a few days later Ramon looked back at the mountains with
the feeling that they belonged to him by right of conquest.

CHAPTER XXVII

A week later Ramon was driving across the _mesa_ west of town, bound for
the state capital. He was following the same route that Diego Delcasar had
followed on the day of his death, and he passed within a few miles of
Archulera's ranch; but no thought either of his uncle or of Archulera
entered his mind. For in his pocket was a letter consisting of a single
sentence hastily scrawled in a large round upright hand on
lavender-scented note paper. The sentence was:

"Meet you at the southwest corner of the Plaza Tuesday at seven thirty.

"Love,