"Si!" she said. "He ees here--for the firs' time in mos' twenty years, señor. You never hear? He killing my husban'. But I forgive him because ees in the fight and no can help. Reinaldo attack, and Diego mus' defend, of course. Still, he _kill_ him, and I am the wife. But bime by I forgive, for that ees my religion. And I love Chonita. So she come to the old house, the firs' time in so many years, for the birfday de my son. Diego is horseback now, but come back soon. You no like go to your room? So dirt that treep, no? Reinaldo!" Her son came forward at once. "Show the Señor Torp to his room, no? and the other gentlemens." Thorpe followed young Iturbi y Moncada down the corridor and into a small room. The floor was bare, the furniture prison-like; but he had heard of the simplicity of the adobe mansions of Californian grandees. Reinaldo jerked open the upper drawer of the bureau, disclosing several rows of large goldpieces. "At your service, señor," he said with a bow. "I beg that you will use it all." Thorpe reddened to his hair. He hardly knew whether to be angry or not. Did these haughty grandees take him for a pauper? However, he merely bowed and thanked the youth somewhat drily, and at the same moment Captain Brotherton entered the room. "The hospitality of the Californian!" he cried, taking in the situation at a glance. "Reinaldo, I see the new generation has forgotten nothing, despite the Americans." "No, señor," said the young man, proudly. "What ours is, is our guests. That is right always, no? But perhaps the gentleman no like, perhaps he no have the custom in his country." "We have not, I regret to say, Don Reinaldo. We are a tight-fisted practical race. But I can the more deeply appreciate your hospitality; and, believe me, I do appreciate it." "And you will use it--all, señor?" Thorpe hesitated the fraction of a moment, then replied with some difficulty, "Certainly, señor. I will use it with the greatest pleasure." "Many thanks, señor. _Hasta luego!_" And he left the room. "What an extraordinary custom!" exclaimed Thorpe. "I can't use that man's money." "Oh, you must! He'd be terribly cut up if you did not--think you flouted him." "Well, I'll gamble with him, and let him win it back. I suppose he gambles." "Rather. Before he is forty the Americans will have had his last acre, and he inherits four hundred thousand. They have not even the soil in which to plant a business instinct, these Californians. I am glad you have come in time. They are worth seeing, and their like will never be seen again." "I should think they were worth seeing. What did Doña Prudencia mean by saying that Diego Estenega killed her husband?"