“I only hope it is the trappers, for I would like to get their business over with before the _caravan_ arrives. This Gringo trade from beyond the mountains has cut so largely into our own rightful business within the province that we must make whatever profit we can out of the goods they take back with them. The peltries they buy are cheap at the price, anyway.” “What is the Governor charging them a load this year?” asked Luis, who was rather a handsome young fellow of eighteen or twenty, with a straight nose and loose, full lips. “Just what was charged two years ago when the first _caravana_ of wagons entered the territory--five hundred dollars each wagon-load; and, Santa Maria! it is little enough.” “Little indeed,” assented Luis, indifferently. “When does the excellent Don Tiburcio arrive? Have we been taming the little sister so that she won’t scratch this time?” “I expect Don Tiburcio at any time now. That may be the dust of his caravan. He is bringing camlet cloth and silken grogram, shawls, combs, white sugar, ammunition, the usual merchandise. And Heaven send he arrive before the Americanos with their cargo from the United States, and have his goods disposed of.” “And my linen shirts?” Luis inquired with more animation than he had yet shown. He followed his father back into the storeroom. Don Anabel nodded, a trifle annoyed. “I believe he brings linen. But with the four frilled camisas which I gave you at Easter-time you should have no urgent need for more shirts at present. By the way, you do not wear the ruby ring which your parents gave you at Christmas.” He eyed his son keenly. Luis flicked an ash from his cigarette and replied, evenly: “Not all the time. It is a trifle large, and much too fine a stone to run the risk of losing.” “So I thought when it was presented to you,” remarked Don Anabel, drily. “How does it happen, then, that I find it on the finger of the gaming friar of Albuquerque----?” Luis flushed. He did not reply, but looked away in embarrassment. “The usual thing? Tell me no lies, Luis.” “I exacted the promise that I might redeem it, and expect to do so very shortly now.” “Well, I trust that you will. But not from the _fray_. Come to me when you are ready.” Don Anabel drew his hand from his pocket and, opening it palm upward, showed a splendid garnet ring, set in dull heavy gold. “It has cost me three hundred duros to get back your pledge, several times the amount of your losses; but it is too fine a gem to have imported but to lose.” His words were cut short by a commotion outside in the streets, and shouts coming down the canyon road. “They are coming! They are coming!” shouted ragged children capering in the roadway. “Who comes? Who comes?” the cry went up from doorway and street. People poured out into plaza and lane, siestas abandoned for so great an occasion.