Quivering with rage, Consuelo stood still. Her hands clenched, she could have stamped her feet in fury and hurt. She would bring that American to her feet and tramp on him! But now she was caught up and swung round and round by a jovial partner, and then--the dance went out with the lights. “Some _apache emborrachado_ (some drunken apache),” stormed Doña Gertrudis, “unaccustomed to the entertainment of civilization.” There was roaring and laughter in the darkness, and the music of the drunken fiddler which never stopped. Outside the dance hall Ceran St. Vrain hurried his party down a side street, halfway along which he pulled back abruptly. By the faint light of the rising moon they could see half a dozen cloaked figures hovering at the corner. St. Vrain pushed open a door and they hurried through a _zaguan_, out into a cluttered and used corral, thence into the other street. A few moments later they stood within the colonel’s quarters, where Bragdon was waiting for his daughter. The ladies were escorted to their rooms across the courtyard, where they bid them good night. “A close call,” said St. Vrain. “When the lights go out watch out. Luis Lopez runs the young bloods of this place, and he had his eye on Miss Bragdon. Sorry, but if I hadn’t plucked you out, Steven, my lad, you would have had a nice knife fight on your hands. And I need you to get the ladies home safely, too.” There was a light knock upon the door at this moment. The colonel laid a hand on the pistol at his hip, and blowing out the candles, stepped to the door, threw back the bolt, and opened it an inch. A solitary tall figure stood outside. It was Don Tiburcio Garcia. At St. Vrain’s word he stepped quickly inside. Steven relit the candle and, the shade being drawn, the three men sat down. “You departed just in time,” remarked Don Tiburcio, smiling. “So it seems,” Steven agreed. “The colonel says there was a party lying in wait for us at the corner.” “Yes,” Don Tiburcio nodded. “I saw them and took two men on the other side in case there was fighting, but our friend here was too adroit for Luis and his men.” “And the other young lady?” asked Steven. “Her mother and a duenna escorted her safely home. Nobody would dare molest the Señorita Consuelo, anyway.” St. Vrain was pleased at this opportunity to talk business with a Mexican gentleman of Don Tiburcio’s wealth and spent an hour smoking and chatting. Then the colonel rose, remembering a mission among his mule-drivers, and Steven and Don Tiburcio were left together. CHAPTER VI DON ANABEL AND HIS FAMILY