On the last day but one the party went down the coast to attend Don Tiburcio's _merienda_. It was to be given in a valley about a half-mile inland, which the guests must approach through a narrow cañon fronting the sea. The walk along the beach and inland trail was easy and pleasant, but the cañon was sown with rocks and sweet-brier; and the way was picked with some discomfort. "If I stub my toe, you can carry me," said Nina. "I will," said Thorpe, gallantly. He was feeling particularly light of heart. The week was almost over. Delightful in many ways as it had been, he was eager to take the reins into his own hands. "Look! look!" exclaimed Nina, and the party paused simultaneously. Don Tiburcio Castro had suddenly appeared at the head of the cañon. He was mounted on a large horse of a breed peculiar to the Californias, golden bronze in colour with silver mane and tail. The trappings of the horse were of embossed leather, heavily mounted with silver. His own attire was magnificent. He wore the costume of the grandees of his time,--a time which had fallen helplessly into the past during the fourteen years of American possession; indeed, Don Tiburcio, who, like many of his brethren, had for every day use adopted the garb of modern civilisation, had the effect, as he sat motionless on his burnished steed at the head of the cañon, of a symbolic figure at the end of a perspective. He wore short clothes of red silk, the jacket open over a lace shirt clasped with jewels. His long botas of yellow leather were wound about with red and blue ribbons; his broad sombrero was heavy with silver eagles. "I begin to feel the unreality of California," said Thorpe. "It is like a scene out of a picture-book." "After all, it is but one phase," replied Nina. Don Tiburcio lifted his sombrero and rode down the cañon, the horse stepping daintily over the rocks. The women waved their handkerchiefs, the men their caps. Then the end of the perspective was closed once more, this time by a group of women. And they wore full flowered gowns with pointed bodice, rebosos draped about their dark graceful heads. Two tinkled the guitar. The others wielded large black fans. "Ay!" exclaimed Mrs. Earle. "Why did I not bring my reboso? 'Lupie, we shall be forgotten." "There are men," replied Miss Hathaway, as several dark beribboned heads appeared above the rebosos. "They, too, may want a change. You can desert me, Captain Hastings. I shall amuse myself." "I don't doubt it," said Hastings, gloomily. "I don't flatter myself that I could make you jealous." "I welcome you," said Don Tiburcio, choosing his English very slowly, and reining in. "The day ees yours, my friends. I am your slave. I have prepare a little entertainment, but if it no is to your taste, but say the word, and all shall be change."