“Permit me, _señora_,” he said. Señora Vallejo’s hand went out, but there flashed from the eyes of Anita Fernandez a warning, and the hand was withdrawn. The caballero arose and tendered the handkerchief again, to have Señora Vallejo turn her back and face the girl. “Perhaps, Anita dear, we should return now,” she said. “Evening approaches, and there will be a fog rolling up the valley.” “As you please, Señora Vallejo.” The girl turned from the creek and started walking up the slope. The caballero stood in the path before her, determined. Anita Fernandez stopped, and seemed to look through him and at the mission beyond. From the adobe wall hurried Pedro, the giant neophyte, who had been watching and feared an affront to the women. “You are being annoyed, _señorita_?” he asked. “How could that be?” she demanded, laughing lightly. “There is none here to annoy me, unless it be Señora Vallejo.” “I beg your pardon, _señorita_. I thought I heard someone speak.” “’Twas but the distant barking of a coyote, Pedro. You may follow us to the guest house, if you wish. I will give you something for your little girl.” They started toward the caballero again and for a moment it seemed that they must recognise his presence. But Anita Fernandez had a subterfuge to prevent that. Just before reaching him, she turned aside, and the others followed. “I must speak to the padre about the neophytes allowing rubbish to collect so near the mission,” she said. “It always should be burned. Look at the stuff here!” She pointed to the caballero’s cloak, and with one tiny foot she kicked scornfully at the guitar. Then she swerved back toward the path again, and the others followed her toward the plaza. The caballero picked up the guitar and pressed his lips to the place where her foot had struck, knowing well that Señora Vallejo was watching him, though she pretended not to be. He looked after them until the girl and woman had passed around the end of the adobe wall and Pedro had gone to his own hut. Darkness was gathering rapidly now; lights appeared in the buildings; before the door of the storehouse sat a circle of men, talking and laughing, sipping bowls of wine. Sitting on the ground, his back against a rock, the caballero watched the scene. “A beautiful woman,” he mused. “Proud, spirited, kind though she does not suspect it, naturally intelligent, very much to be desired.” One by one the lights in the buildings disappeared. The men before the storehouse crept away to rest. A fray called to a neophyte standing guard. And then there was no noise save for the singing of the breeze through the orchard, and the distant howling of a coyote.