The place which he had entered was poor enough; it was built on a mud floor, and was entirely devoid of furniture save for a ramshackle bedstead with spotless linen upon it, and a couple of chairs. There was a tiny shrine with an image of the Virgin in the corner of the room; before it burned a halfpenny night-light, and round it were ranged in a row a number of paper match-boxes with little coloured pictures upon them. They were French match-boxes, which opened with a spring formed of elastic, and underneath the pictures were jokes of a doubtful description. Neither Lara nor his wife knew anything of the French language; the empty paper match-boxes, with the horrible jokes upon them, were offered faithfully before Our Lady. They were the best they had to give, and they were the only decorations in the room. The-woman dusted a chair for Peter, and set the other for her husband, and she herself sat down upon the edge of the bed. They were both glad of visitors at whatever hour they arrived, and in the solitary life of the camp a belated horseman may often ride up after dusk. Peter explained that it was Senor Purvis, who owned the big estancia down at La Dorada, whom he was riding to overtake. 'He had better not ride about too much alone,' said the Spaniard. 'There are some long knives about, and the senor is a short man.' 'What is the trouble on the estate?' said Peter. But he could get no information from Lara. 'He had better take care,' the man said. 'Senor Purvis would be safer if he were to sail away in his steamer, and be gone for a month or two.' 'He has a mixed lot of men on his estancia, has he not?' Peter asked. 'Yes,' said the man; 'but they are mostly Spanish, and the senor, for all his Spanish tongue, has not got a heart that understands the people.' 'You don't think anything can have happened to him?' Peter asked.