John Toberman, _mayordomo_ of the ranch, appeared at the front door presently with Simon, who had bounded away at Don Abrahan's nod to find him. He came into the light of Doña Carlota's candle, which she still held in her hand, its flame on a level with her stubby nose. He was bareheaded, his pistols were belted around him, his shirt was open on his grizzled neck. He came into the house without ceremony, no show of deference and little of respect, in his bearing toward Don Abrahan and his son. [Illustration] Toberman was a broad-shouldered, lean Yankee, once mate of the ship that Captain Sprague had commanded. He was sixty years of age, or more, his heavy, bushy hair of a pepper-and-salt gray, his bearded face, dark as a Mexican's, keen and alert. He stood in the door, severe, questioning; a cloud of displeasure on his face. "What does this clatter around here at this time of the night mean, Garvanza?" he demanded, fixing the magistrate with searching eyes. "In the name of the law to demand a fugitive who is to be judged for his crimes," Don Abrahan replied. "You want that young man Henderson, do you? Well, if you think you're goin' to drag him back to work for you till the United States army marches in here and sets the peons free, you're mistaken. If you want to try him for slappin' your son's jaw, set the date and I'll guarantee he'll be on hand." "There is more than you understand," Don Abrahan said coldly. "You are a Mexican citizen, it is treason for you to talk of an American army taking possession of this country. Bear that in mind when you open your mouth hastily in the future, Toberman." Toberman seemed to grow two inches as he drew himself up, his chest swelling with no knowing what defiance. Helena lifted her hand, slightly, seeming to speak to him with her eyes. The blast of words that might have knocked Don Abrahan off his feet, and haled Toberman into court for trial on a serious charge, was checked. Toberman contented himself with adjusting his hands on his hips, in a pose that was at once expressive of defiance and disdain, and standing so in silence. "Where is the fugitive hiding?" Don Abrahan demanded. "You're free to go and find out," said Toberman. "The time has come to teach these Yankees who are masters of this country," Roberto said, turning to his father in fury. "Why will you temporize with them, permit them to throw insult and defiance in your face? Give me permission and I will find a way to make this man answer, and answer with respect." "Peace!" Don Abrahan commanded, yet with more admiration than severity. "There is a way; in due time it will be seen. Toberman, the iron hand of the law is over you; it must not, it shall not, be defied. I will give you until mid-day tomorrow to produce this fugitive. Go about the business immediately." "Don Abrahan, you have no right to come into my house with such commands!" Helena protested.