It was south, she thought, following the trail of Don Tiburcio Garcia. He expected to overtake the Spaniard; began to get ready as soon as he heard Don Tiburcio had left Santa Fe, and started out, himself, the next night although his leg was still not well enough to walk much on. Señorita ’Ope Bragdon had told Doña Katarina that Don Tiburcio had been telling her father all about the placers south of Santa Fe, the silver bullion of Chihuahua, and some strange silver sands he had seen on the way up. The Yanqui got all excited about it. “Do you know,” Doña Katarina beamed in the knowledge she was about to impart, “Don Tiburcio asked the Yanqui for Señorita ’Ope’s hand in marriage, and Senorita ’Ope would not. The Señor father was very angry at her.” “Why, then it was not Consuelo?” Steven was amazed. He was sorry for Don Tiburcio, and for Hope, too. She was a good little thing. “Yes, she is good,” Doña Katarina put in, warmly. “Her father left some goods here. He was keeping them till he could get higher prices, after all the other merchandise had gotten worn out, but ’Ope--Esperanza, I call her--has already given it to the Indians who got flour mixed with their sugar, in place of the money or skins they traded for it.” Steven had passed a restless afternoon. His recovery had been very rapid. Doña Katarina had insisted, however, that he remain inside until after sundown. But now the sun was set, it was already growing dark and he made ready to go out. As he reached his door Doña Katarina returned, “An Indian is waiting here to see you, Señor Estevan,” she said. It was the silent Juan, who squatted on the floor beside Steven’s chair and rolled his cigarette without saying a word. He rolled another which he offered Steven and smoked for a few minutes before he spoke. The Señorita Lopez wished the young gentleman to come, Juan said, if he would be so kind, on a matter of importance concerning one he loved--to come that night at the tenth hour. He, Juan, would escort him to the place. Steven’s heart leaped. Adventure had been kind to him. But this, ah, this was something new and strangely sweet. How soft a little town can be under moonlight, under starlight. What is more endearing than little houses with candlelit windows, glowing whitely under the moon! How lovely a garden; a nightingale singing in a flowering tamarack above the _acequia_. Down the banks of the little silver river, to the foot of the garden, went Juan and Steven, and up over the wall. _Caramba!_ There was broken glass set there. Careful, señor. Had he cut his hand? A _bagatela_. Then down on the other side of the wall and Consuelo standing in the starlight, hooded but unmistakable. Steven stepped eagerly forward, but the straight figure, something in the poise of her head, restrained him. “Señor Ess-tev-an,” she spoke almost in a whisper, “I would not send for you again, thus boldly, but that I have learned something touching us both most closely.”