She would send Felicita’s husband, Juan, to guide him. Juan would be waiting at Estevan’s door in an hour. “You will be back?” murmured Consuelo. “When? In a week? Ten days?” “In a week.” His ears were thrumming, his heart violently knocking his ribs, “unless I am shot through the back, I shall see you. No?” He longed to say, “I love you; I have just realized that I loved you from the moment I saw you in the window.” She nodded solemnly. “In a week, then, from tonight. At ten. At my balcony?” He must not come home with her now lest they be seen. Felicita waited beyond the wall to escort her. Consuelo snatched a blanket from under Felicita’s _reboso_ and Steven threw it over himself and walked calmly out of the corral beside the two, through the dark lanes, out upon a moonlight-flooded street--to the garden gate of Don Anabel’s house. He lingered but a moment to bend over Consuelo’s hand, then strode away to his own place, where he had nearly to pound the door down to waken the good Doña Katarina and get in. Two days later Steven was riding through groves of golden, trembling aspen down the mountain slope into Taos. Juan had taken him by the upper trail so that they could ride under cover. The mountain-side was a glory of autumnal yellow, each leaf like beaten gold. The streams ran cold and clear, and full of rainbow trout. The beauty of the world fitted well with Steven’s mood. He was joyously, rapturously, in love. Past the white pyramid of the pueblo of Taos, rising against sky and mountain in great steps, they rode through low thickets of willow and copper-tinted cottonwood, into San Fernando de Taos. The little Spanish town snuggled in the valley, its houses festooned with ropes of scarlet chili, its fields stacked with golden grain and yellow corn. Steven sat, the next morning, at breakfast with Ceran St. Vrain and told of what happened. “But six of the traders carried letters in duplicate,” he boasted, “so unless all perish my father will have news of me.” St. Vrain nodded approval, pulling on his long pipe. “Señor Garcia has already returned to Santa Fe. He left yesterday morning, but by the lower route; yet I would not trust him overmuch. He is a wise, secretive man, and would do as much as suited his purpose. No more.” “You mean he would use me? And then I might pay the piper?” “I think so. As you have missed the return trip, I would stay here with us in Taos until another caravan comes, when you can return East, or stay and cast in your lot here, trapping, trading, building up a business yourself in case your father does not care to send you any merchandise. I will take you on as an _engagé_ if you decide so.”