Meanwhile, Pereo's tall figure had disappeared in the shrubbery, to emerge again in the open area by the summer-house and the old pear-tree. The red sparks of two or three cigarettes in the shadow of the summer-house, and the crouching forms of two shawled women came forward to greet him. "And what hast thou heard, Pereo?" said one of the women. "Nothing," said Pereo, impatiently. "I told thee I would answer for this little primogenita with my life. She is but leading this Frenchman a dance, as she has led the others, and the Dona Amita and her Raymond are but wax in her hands. Besides, I have spoken with the little 'Ruja to-day, and spoke my mind, Pepita, and she says there is nothing." "And whilst thou wert speaking to her, my poor Pereo, the devil of an American Doctor was speaking to her mother, thy mistress--our mistress, Pereo! Wouldst thou know what he said? Oh, it was nothing." "Now, the curse of Koorotora on thee, Pepita!" said Pereo, excitedly. "Speak, fool, if thou knowest anything!" "Of a verity, no. Let Faquita, then, speak: she heard it." She reached out her hand, and dragged Maruja's maid, not unwilling, before the old man. "Good! 'Tis Faquita, daughter of Gomez, and a child of the land. Speak, little one. What said this coyote to the mother of thy mistress?" "Truly, good Pereo, it was but accident that befriended me." "Truly, for thy mistress's sake, I hoped it had been more. But let that go. Come, what said he, child?" "I was hanging up a robe behind the curtain in the oratory when Pepita ushered in the Americano. I had no time to fly." "Why shouldst thou fly from a dog like this?" said one of the cigarette-smokers who had drawn near. "Peace!" said the old man. "When the Dona Maria joined him they spoke of affairs. Yes, Pereo, she, thy mistress, spoke of affairs to this man--ay, as she might have talked to THEE. And, could he advise this? and could he counsel that? and should the cattle be taken from the lower lands, and the fields turned to grain? and had he a purchaser for Los Osos?" "Los Osos! It is the boundary land--the frontier--the line of the arroyo--older than the Mision," muttered Pereo. "Ay, and he talked of the--the--I know not what it is!--the r-r-rail-r-road." "The railroad," gasped the old man. "I will tell thee what it is! It is the cut of a burning knife through La Mision Perdida--as long as eternity, as dividing as death. On either side of that gash life is blasted; wherever that cruel steel is laid the track of it is livid and barren; it cuts down all barriers; leaps all boundaries, be they canada or canyon; it is a torrent in the plain, a tornado in the forest; its very pathway is destruction to whoso crosses it--man or beast; it is the heathenish God of the Americanos; they build temples for it, and flock there and worship it whenever it stops, breathing fire and flame like a very Moloch."