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warned, “—I should say nothing to him about this matter until you are ready to announce your decision to Suzanna. Then, if the idea does not please him, he will have no time to plan a counter move.”
    â€œRamon is an obedient son,” Doña Luz hurriedly assured the lawyer. “He will not question his father’s authority.”
    â€œNo,—of course not,” the attorney answered with a rather forced smile. “But the boy does his own thinking. It is the way of our young men. Ramon had no hand in the Republican coup that sent Victoria out of the state; but from what Miguel tells me, I can see that the boy is Republican; and it is the doctrine of that element to tear down all of our old institutions.”
    â€œAnd small wonder,” Don Fernando exclaimed. “If my son is a Republican it is because Mexico administers things so badly, and not because he has turned against the traditions we brought here from Spain. He is nearer right in his beliefs than I would care to have him suspect. But it matters not, Alvarez. He shall not be told until I am ready to speak to the girl. When I announce myself, she will do as I order.”

CHAPTER IV
SUZANNA THE PEON
    A S they talked, a slip of a girl,—small-limbed, small-waisted; but full breasted and muscular for all her size, rode across the servants’ patio. Even though she sat astride a sleepy-eyed, flea-bitten burro, her attire the ragged clothes of a peon boy, she was beautiful.
    From the crown of her head—partially hidden from view by a gaudy bandanna handkerchief—to the soles of her moccasin-clad feet she was bizarre, unusual. Her raven-black curls framing a face so entrancing that one could only wonder at the beauty of it. It was small, regular, perfectly formed, as was her body, which was as lithe as a boy’s.
    The suns of California had tanned her skin a dark, olive-bronze. In colorful contrast were her lips, as red as pomegranates. But what held one longest were her eyes,—large, dark, lustrous and filled with undimmed fire.
    Don Fernando stiffened as he caught sight of her. The señora and Alvarez, following his eyes, saw her a moment later. The attorney adjusted his glasses rather hurriedly after his first look at the girl.
    â€œA beauty, if ever there was one,” he admitted. “Peon or not, she is a flower.”
    â€œAnd accordingly—dangerous,” Guiterrez declared. “And those clothes—the girl seems to prefer them to better garments. To my knowledge, she is continually receiving presents of one sort or another. Every vaquero on the place has made eyes at her; but she will have none of them. And as for independence, humph! She is stealing away right now for the afternoon. She knows that Ruiz is not here to forbid it.”
    As they watched her, Suzanna rode out of sight, blissfully unconscious that she was the subject of conversation of the trio seated upon the veranda. In her hands she held a crude fishing rod. Using it as a gad, she urged her burro toward the distant hills where the placid San Carmelo River wound along between moss covered banks. She hummed a song as she thumped the burro,—a bit of an endless sentimental strain:

    Allowing for the loss of rhythm and idiom which translation imposes, Suzanna’s song said:

    It is doubtful, though, if the song conjured in her brain any picture of dashing caballero upon his knees before her repeating those identical words. Suzanna’s dominating thought, at present, being to put as much distance between herself and the Caserio de Gutierrez as she possibly could, and during the shortest space of time, for intuitively, and by past performances, too, Suzanna sensed work should her father catch sight of her. That the next half-hour would find him back at the hacienda she did not doubt.
    There was work in plenty to be done this afternoon; but grinding grain, carrying water, cooking and baking had long since palled on her.