Throwing his bridle-rein over a limb, he first carefully examined his pistols, and then loosening his sword in the scabbard, stepped out from the cover and approached the nearest cottage. It was not until he had knocked several times that any answer was returned. Then, however, the door was suddenly swung open, and he was confronted by one of those specimens of Mexican youth, whose faces combine in so remarkable a degree, great beauty with an expression of wicked cunning. He was a boy—perhaps eighteen years of age, with a slender figure, but evidently very active, and unless an exception to his race, capable of enduring great fatigue and privation. His eyes were dark as night, small, and keen; his nose thin and straight, his lips rather pinched, but red and clearly cut. The rest of his features were appropriate to these, and his complexion was rather lighter than the general hue of his people. He held a _lareat_ coiled in his hand, and his goat-skin shoes were armed at the heel with enormous spurs. “_Buenas dias, Señor_,” said he, in a clear, sharp voice, stepping back at the same time, in mute invitation to Harding to enter. The latter returned the salutation and asked— “On whose lands are these _ranchos_?” “On those of La Señora Eltorena,” answered the boy, promptly. “How far is it to Anelo?” he inquired. “Twelve leagues, sir.” Harding reflected for a moment, and then beckoned the boy aside. The latter gazed at him inquiringly; but drawing the door to, followed him to the place where his horse was standing. “You see that horse?” said he. “I do,” answered the boy “and a very fine one he is, too.” “Could you ride him to Anelo and back,[2] to-day?” “How much money could I get to do it?” asked the youth, eyeing the officer as if to measure his liberality. “Twenty dollars,” Harding answered; “or, if you do not find me on your return, you may keep the horse.” “Agreed,” said the boy, promptly. “I’ll set out now.” Harding took a blank leaf from his pocket-book and wrote a note to the commandant of a detachment of Texan rangers, whom he knew to be then foraging at Anelo, and handed it to the boy. “You must be back before midnight,” said he; “and you may ask for me at the _hacienda_. My name is Harding.” “And mine is Eltorena,” said the youth. “I am six months older than Margarita, and entitled to the name by the same right.” His eyes glistened as he spoke with an expression so devilish, that Harding was half inclined to take back the note and discharge him. But while reflecting upon the words of the boy, the latter, as if divining his half formed intention, suddenly put spurs to his horse’s flanks and bounded away. Harding watched him until he had crossed the river, and avoiding _La Embocadura_ by a wide circuit, was fast disappearing among the groves to the east.