“I do not know,” replied Don Anabel, quickly; “certainly they were looking into the country and the possibilities of trade. La Lande would have gone back, only he found he could prosper here, and as the goods with which he set himself up in business here did not belong to him, but to his employer back on the Missouri River, he would have had to make an accounting had he returned. Pursley--well, we all want to make Pursley’s stay agreeable; or his departure formidable, rather.” “Don Anabel laughed a frankly cynical laugh. He came here, you may remember, as an emissary. Was one of a thousand men who first crossed our northern Andes, with two thousand animals. In Pursley’s pockets were nuggets of pure gold. He alone knew exactly where he had picked them up. That tale returned across the Trail. But Pursley remains here. “The question is,” Don Anabel resumed, after a moment’s sipping of his cordial, “to whom does this country belong? To us, the Spaniards who have held it for three centuries, ever since Cabeza de Baca first found it, or to these upstart colonials who have been free from England’s skirts for hardly half a century? Santa Fe is not large. She is remote from Mexico--and its political storms”--Don Tiburcio winced--“and for that very reason little able to withstand a horde of Yanquis coming like bull-headed buffalo over the Trail. The more you kill, the more there are, apparently. Will Mexico fight for us, or is she no longer Spanish? Has she thrown off the traditions of Spain along with the yoke of Spain?” “I do not know,” Don Tiburcio replied, slowly. “Last winter Mexico expelled all the Cachupines. Every Spanish-born citizen, including the friars, even, and drove out Gomez Pedraza, the first President they had been able to elect constitutionally. That,” he concluded, dryly, “in connection with our treaty of independence of January last year, might be construed as a severing of identity with Spain, and the development of a national identity.” “National disintegration,” declared Don Anabel. “Mexico was never united until Cortez came. A handful of scattered tribes that even the great Montezuma did not pretend to keep together. Spain’s imprint will never depart, no matter how much you throw off the ‘yoke.’ This whole country is New Spain.” “Yet one day I think you will find that you, too, will be throwing off Mexico; allegiance is more geographic than of blood. Your capital may be eastward in another century.” “No,” said Don Anabel, violently. “New Mexico this territory has been since Antonio de Espejo named us in 1583; Santa Fe has been the seat of government since sixteen five, and so shall they always be. Our boundaries began at New Galicia, and extended to New Biscay, and they shall never retreat so far as I can help it.” “Señor,” replied Don Tiburcio, with frank admiration of the older man in his eyes, “you may be mistaken, but you are admirable, señor.” * * * * *