Part 5

"Three thousand pesos d'oro," answered Carlos. "But by the Virgin, it was worth it!"

"Three thousand pesos d'oro!" ejaculated his auditors with one breath. Old Miguel dropped his glass which fell with a crash, scattering its contents and fragments over the floor.

"Three thousand pesos d'oro!" he gasped. "Alma de mi vida! Soul of my life! 'tis the salary of a Bishop! Are you mad, Carlos Moreno?"

"Perhaps. But only Carlos Moreno can afford to pay such salaries during the Fiesta," he answered complacently, taking a fresh sip of pulque.

"How did you ever persuade her to dance?" asked Pedro. "It's not the first time you have made overtures to her."

"Ah, that's the mystery! I'd give something to know why she danced. You know," he continued, "it's the first time she has ever appeared in public."

"The first time?" interrupted the Captain in surprise. "Why--she possesses the composure of a veteran of the footlights."

"Just so," rejoined Carlos. "Nothing is more characteristic of her; she's at home everywhere. When I first saw her dance three years ago in the garden of the old Posada at the birthday fête of Señora Fernandez, I knew instantly that she was either possessed of the devil or the ancient muse of dance; also, why Don Felipe Ramirez went mad over her.

"Dios! she's a strange woman--almost mysterious at times!" he added reflectively, with a shrug of the shoulders and gesture of the hands. "I thought, of course, that it was the money she wanted when she finally consented to dance, but I'm not so sure of it now."

"What reason have you for supposing otherwise?" asked Pedro.

"Every reason. What do you think she did with the heap of gold and silver that was showered upon her by the audience?"

"What?" excitedly demanded old Miguel, who by this time had fortified himself with a fresh glass of aguardiente.

"Why, after it had been gathered up and handed to her, she, without so much as looking at it, tossed it lightly into the center of the stage and bade the musicians and stage-hands remember her when they drank to their sweethearts to-night."

Captain Forest's interest began to be aroused.

"Caramba--'tis strange!" muttered old Miguel, eyeing his glass meditatively; his head nodding slightly from the effects of too much liquor. "But what will Padre Antonio say when he hears of it? How fortunate he wasn't here to witness a sight that must have caused him the deepest humiliation. Poor man," he continued, assuming a sympathetic tone, "it is already the scandal of the town."

"Bah! what of that?" returned Carlos.

It was evident to all that the delights of the Fiesta were beginning to tell on the old man. Already it had been noted on previous occasions that an overindulgence in aguardiente usually invoked a religious frame of mind in him, but which in Miguel's case resembled rather the groping of a lost soul than the prophetic vision of the seer.

"What of that?" echoed Miguel, an ominous light flashing from his eyes. "Those golden pesos so lightly earned will just about pay for a thousand masses in order to avert excommunication and enable the Church to snatch the soul of the Chiquita from the fires of purgatory as a punishment for conduct unbecoming the ward of a priest."

"Bah! you talk like an infant, Miguel! What a sad, weary world this would be if there were only priests and churches in it and men did nothing all day long but say aves and burn candles on altars," and Carlos lightly blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Ah, yes, perhaps--quien sabe, amigo mio?" answered the old man dryly. "But the Church is the Church."

"Miguel, you are growing old," said Pedro, slapping him lightly on the back. "Have another glass!"

"I'm not old. I'm no older than the rest of you, and neither will I have another glass," retorted Miguel hotly, greatly irritated by the others' laughter.

"Ah!" he continued, wagging his head, and in a tone of bravado and offended dignity, "you think I can't get home alone, do you? I'll show you that Miguel Torreno is still as young as the rest of you!" And supporting himself with one hand on the table and the other on his stick, he rose from his seat with great difficulty.

"Miguel Torreno old, is he? A thousand devils!" A chorus of laughter greeted this last outburst as he turned unsteadily and swaying to and fro, slowly made his way through the crowd toward the door.

Just then a man at the next table rose with an oath. It was Juan Ramon, Major-domo of the Inn of the Stars. Juan Ramon, the handsome, the hawk, the gambler--the greatest vaquero in Chihuahua. The man who took delight in riding horses that other men feared--the man in whose hand the riata became a magic wand, a hissing serpent, and who could stretch a bull at full length upon the ground at a given spot within a given time.

"Has the blessed Fiesta brought you no luck, Juan?" inquired Carlos, tilting himself back in his chair and smiling up in the other's face.

"Luck--blessed Fiesta? The devil take them both!" exclaimed Juan, the look of disgust on his face gradually changing to one of resignation--that serene expression of the born gambler whom experience has taught that days of famine are certain to follow those of plenty.

"Look!" he repeated. "The cards are bewitched--not a centavo! My pockets are empty as Lazarus' stomach! Only a month ago I picked out a beautiful little hacienda with the fairest acreage to which I intended to retire and live like a Caballero--to-day I parted with my only horse at a loss--to-morrow," and he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, "if this sort of thing continues, I'll be forced to pawn the buttons on my breeches.