"This devil, you mean. When last night I saw you come limping into the room--" "Ay, yi, yi, Dios!" "Maria!" "Dios de mi alma!" "Dios de mi vida!" "Cielo santo!" A wheel had given way, and the party was scattered about the road. No one was hurt, but loud were the lamentations. No Californian had ever walked six miles, and the wheel was past repair. But Abel Hudson came to the rescue. "Leave it to me," he said. "I pledge myself to get you there," and he went off in the direction of a ranch-house. "Ay! the good American! The good American!" cried the girls. "Eulogia! how canst thou be so cold to him? The handsome stranger with the kind heart!" "His heart is like the Sacramento Valley, veined with gold instead of blood." "Holy Mary!" she cried some moments later, "what is he bringing? The wagon of the country!" Abel Hudson was standing erect on the low floor of a wagon drawn by two strong black mules. The wagon was a clumsy affair,--a large wooden frame covered with rawhide, and set upon a heavy axle. The wheels were made of solid sections of trees, and the harness was of greenhide. An Indian boy sat astride one of the mules. On either side rode a vaquero, with his reata fastened to the axle-tree. "This is the best I can do," said Hudson. "There is probably not another American wagon between San Luis and Miramar. Do you think you can stand it?" The girls shrugged their pretty shoulders. The men swore into their mustachios. Doña Pomposa groaned at the prospect of a long ride in a springless wagon. But no one was willing to return, and when Eulogia jumped lightly in, all followed, and Hudson placed them as comfortably as possible, although they were obliged to sit on the floor. The wagon jolted down the cañon, the mules plunging, the vaqueros shouting; but the moon glittered like a silvered snow peak, the wild green forest was about them, and even Eulogia grew a little sentimental as Abel Hudson's blue eyes bent over hers and his curly head cut off Doña Pomposa's view. "Dear señorita," he said, "thy tongue is very sharp, but thou hast a kind heart. Hast thou no place in it for Abel Hudson?" "In the sala, señor--where many others are received--with mamma and Aunt Anastacia sitting in the corner." He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest! But I would take all the rooms, and turn every one out, even to Doña Pomposa and Doña Anastacia!" "And leave me alone with you! God of my soul! How I should yawn!" "Oh, yes, Doña Coquetta, I am used to such pretty little speeches. When you began to yawn I should ride away, and you would be glad to see me when I returned." "What would you bring me from the mountains, señor?" He looked at her steadily. "Gold, señorita. I know of many rich veins. I have a little cañon suspected by no one else, where I pick out a sack full of gold in a day. Gold makes the life of a beloved wife very sweet, señorita."