Roberto, a polite translation of "Bob the Bucker," cleaned out at a monte-bank in Santa Cruz, penniless and profligate, had sold his mustang to Don Jose and recklessly thrown himself in with the bargain. Touched by the rascal's extravagance, the quality of the mare, and observing that Bob's habits had not yet affected his seat in the saddle, but rather lent a demoniac vigor to his chase of wild cattle, Don Jose had retained rider and horse in his service as vaquero. Bucking Bob, observing that his employer was alone, coolly opened the door without ceremony, shut it softly behind him, and then closed the wooden shutter of the grating. Don Jose surveyed him with mild surprise and dignified composure. The man appeared perfectly sober,--it was a peculiarity of his dissipated habits that, when not actually raving with drink, he was singularly shrewd and practical. "Look yer, Don Kosay," he began in a brusque but guarded voice, "you and me is pards. When ye picked me and the mare up and set us on our legs again in this yer ranch, I allowed I'd tie to ye whenever you was in trouble--and wanted me. And I reckon that's what's the matter now. For from what I see and hear on every side, although you're the boss of this consarn, you're surrounded by a gang of spies and traitors. Your comings and goings, your ins and outs, is dogged and followed and blown upon. The folks you trust is playing it on ye. It ain't for me to say why or wherefore--what's their rights and what's yourn--but I've come to tell ye that if you don't get up and get outer this ranch them d--d priests and your own flesh and blood--your aunts and your uncles and your cousins, will have you chucked outer your property, and run into a lunatic asylum." "Me--Don Jose Sepulvida--a lunatico! You are yourself crazy of drink, friend Roberto." "Yes," said Roberto grimly, "but that kind ain't ILLEGAL, while your makin' ducks and drakes of your property and going into 'Merikin ideas and 'Merikin speculations they reckon is. And speakin' on the square, it ain't NAT'RAL." Don Jose sprang to his feet and began to pace up and down his cell-like study. "Ah, I remember now," he muttered, "I begin to comprehend: Father Felipe's homilies and discourses! My aunt's too affectionate care! My cousin's discreet consideration! The prompt attention of my servants! I see it all! And you," he said, suddenly facing Roberto, "why come you to tell me this?" "Well, boss," said the American dryly, "I reckoned to stand by you." "Ah," said Don Jose, visibly affected. "Good Roberto, come hither, child, you may kiss my hand." "If! it's all the same to you, Don Kosay,--THAT kin slide." "Ah, if--yes," said Don Jose, meditatively putting his hand to his forehead, "miserable that I am!--I remembered not you were Americano. Pardon, my friend--embrace me--Conpanero y Amigo."