When his preparations were completed he rode straight to the town of Alfego where the powerful Solomon had his establishment, dismounted under the big cottonwoods and strolled into the long, dark cluttered _adobe_ room which was Solomon Alfego’s store. Three or four Mexican clerks were waiting upon as many Mexican customers, with much polite, low-voiced conversation, punctuated by long silences while the customers turned the goods over and over in their hands. Ramon’s entrance created a slight diversion. None of them knew him, for he had not been in that country for years, but all of them recognized that he was a person of weight and importance. He saluted all at once, lifting his hat, with a cordial “_Como lo va, amigos_,” and then devoted himself to an apparently interested inspection of the stock. This, if conscientiously done, would have afforded a week’s occupation, for Solomon Alfego served as sole merchant for a large territory and had to be prepared to supply almost every human want. There were shelves of dry goods and of hardware, of tobacco and of medicines. In the centre of the store was a long rack, heavily laden with saddlery and harness of all kinds, and all around the top of the room, above the shelves, ran a row of religious pictures, including popes, saints, and cardinals, Mary with the infant, Christ crucified and Christ bearing the cross, all done in bright colours and framed, for sale at about three dollars each. It was not long before word of the stranger’s arrival reached Alfego in his little office behind the store, and he came bustling out, beaming and polite. “This is Senor Solomon Alfego?” Ramon enquired in his most formal Spanish. “I am Solomon Alfego,” replied the bulky little man, with a low bow, “and what can I do for the Senor?” “I am Ramon Delcasar,” Ramon replied, extending his hand with a smile, “and it may be that you can do much for me.” “Ah-h-h!” breathed Alfego, with another bow, “Ramon Delcasar! And I knew you when you were _un muchachito_” (a little boy). He bent over and measured scant two feet from the floor with his hand. “My house is yours. I am at your service. _Siempre!_” The two strolled about the store, talking of the weather, politics, business, the old days—everything except what they were both thinking about. Alfego opened a box of cigars, and having lit a couple of these, they went out on the long porch and sat down on an old buggy seat to continue the conversation. Alfego admired Ramon’s horse and especially his silver-mounted saddle. “Ha! you like the saddle!” Ramon exclaimed in well-stimulated delight. He rose, swiftly undid the cinches, and dropped saddle and blanket at the feet of his host. “It is yours!” he announced.