ez: "That man sitting by himself
over there, the fourth--the fifth--from us. Do you know him?"

Valdez turned casually and seemed to be taking in the general scene. He
brought his glance back to Harboro without seeming to have noticed
anything in particular.

"That's one of your most--er--conspicuous citizens," he said with a smile.
"His name is Mendoza--Jesus Mendoza. I'm surprised you've never met him."

"I never have," replied Harboro. He got up and took a new position so that
he sat between Sylvia and Mendoza, cutting off the view of her.

She had caught the name. She glanced interestedly at the man called Jesus
Mendoza. She could not remember ever to have seen him before; but she was
curious to know something about the man whose wife had been kind to her,
and whose life seemed somehow tragically lonely.

Mendoza made no sign of recognition of Harboro's displeasure. He arose
with a purposeless air and went farther along the stockade wall. Sylvia's
glance followed him. She had not taken in the fact that the man's
presence, or anything that he had done, had annoyed Harboro. She was
wondering what kind of man it was who had captivated and held the woman
who had filled her boudoir with passionate music, and who knew how to keep
an expressionless mask in place so skilfully that no one on the border
really knew her.

The fandango came to an end, and the smooth earth which constituted the
floor of the enclosure was vacated for an instant. Then the musicians
began a favorite Mexican waltz, and there was a scurrying of young men and
women for places. There was an eager movement along the rows of seats by
young fellows who sought partners for the waltz. Custom permitted any man
to seek any disengaged woman and invite her to dance with him.

"We ought to find Wayne and pay our respects," suggested Valdez. "He will
want to meet Mrs. Harboro, too, of course. Shall we look for him?"

They skirted the dancing space, leaving Sylvia with the assurance that
they would soon return. Harboro was noting, with a relief which he could
scarcely understand, that he was among strangers. The people of Eagle Pass
were almost wholly unrepresented as yet. The few Americans present seemed
to be casual sightseers or ranchmen neighbors of the bridegroom.

Left alone, Sylvia looked eagerly and a little wistfully toward the
dancers. Her muscles were yielding to the call of the violins. She was
being caught by the spirit of the occasion. Here s