She had evidently sunk down on the floor sobbing, after making that practical suggestion; and, casting about for burglarious implements to aid me, I found the spit and a wedge-shaped piece of hard wood. These I inserted just above and below the lock, and, forcing back the door on its frame, I soon had the satisfaction of seeing the bolt slip from the catch. Out sprang Cleta, flushed, tearful, her hair all in disorder, but laughing gleefully at having regained her liberty. “Oh, dear friend, I thought you were going to leave me!” she cried. “How agitated I am--feel how my heart beats. Never mind, I can now pay that wretch out. Is not revenge sweet, sweet, sweet?” “Now, Cleta,” I said, “take three mouthfuls of fresh air and a drink of water, then let me lock you in again.” She laughed mockingly, and shook her hair like a wild young colt. “Ah, you are not serious--do you not think I know?” she cried. “Your eyes tell me everything. Besides, you could not shut me up again if you tried.” Here she made a sudden dash at the door, but I caught her and held her a close prisoner. “Let me go, monster--oh, no, not monster, dear, sweet friend, beautiful as the--moon, sun, stars. I am dying for fresh air. I will come back to the oven before he returns. If he caught me out, what blows! Come, let us sit under the tree together.” “That would be disobeying your husband,” I said, trying to look stern. “Never mind, I will confess it all to the priest some day, then it will be as if it had never happened. Such a husband--poof! If you were not a married man--_are_ you married? What a pity! Say again, am I pretty?” “Say first, Cleta, have you a horse a woman can ride on, and if you have one, will you sell it to me?” “Oh, yes, the best horse in the Banda Orientál. They say it is worth six dollars--will you buy it for six dollars? No, I shall not sell it--I shall not tell you that I have a horse till you answer me. Am I pretty, sir stranger?” “Tell me first about the horse, then ask me what you like.” “Nothing more will I tell you--not a word. Yes, everything. Listen. When Antonio comes back, ask him to sell you a horse for your wife to ride. He will try to sell you one of his own, a demon full of faults like his master; false-footed, lame in the shoulder, a roarer, old as the south wind. A black piebald--remember. Offer to buy a roan with a cream nose. That is my horse. Offer him six dollars. Now say, am I pretty?” “Oh, beautiful, Cleta; your eyes are stars, your mouth is a rosebud, sweeter than honey a thousand times.” “Now you talk like a wise man,” she laughed; then, holding my hand, she led me to the tree and sat down by my side on the _poncho_. “And how old are you, little one?” I asked.