After gazing at the cedar-wood for a minute or two, and trying to make the six notches count seven, she gave it up, and went on with her weaving.

The old woman, laying down her spindle, raised the lid of an earthen "olla" that stood over a little fire upon the brazero. From the pot proceeded a savoury steam; for it contained a stew of _tasajo_ cut into small pieces, and highly seasoned with _cebollas_ (Spanish onions) and _chile Colorado_ (red capsicum).

"Nina, the _guisado_ is cooked," said she, after lifting a portion of the stew on a wooden spoon, and examining it; "let us to dinner!"

"Very well, mother," replied Rosita, rising from her loom; "I shall make the tortillas at once."

Tortillas are only eaten warm--that is, are fit only for eating when warm--or fresh from the "_comal_." They are, therefore, to be baked immediately before the meal commences, or during its continuance.

Rosita set the olla on one side, and placed the comal over the coals.

Another olla, which contained maize--already boiled soft--was brought forward, and placed beside the "metate," or tortilla-stone; and then, by the help of an oblong roller--also of stone--a portion of the boiled maize was soon reduced to snow-white paste. The metate and roller were now laid aside, and the pretty, rose-coloured fingers of Rosita were thrust into the paste. The proper quantity for a "tortilla" was taken up, first formed into a round ball, and then clapped out between the palms until it was only a wafer's thickness. Nothing remained but to fling it on the hot surface of the comal, let it lie but for an instant, then turn it, and in a moment more it was ready for eating.

These operations, which required no ordinary adroitness, were performed by Rosita with a skill that showed she was a practised "tortillera."

When a sufficient number were piled upon the plate, Rosita desisted from her labour, and her mother having already "dished" the guisado, both commenced their repast, eating without knife, fork, or spoon. The tortillas, being still warm, and therefore capable of being twisted into any form, served as a substitute for all these contrivances of civilisation, which in a Mexican rancho are considered superfluous things.

Their simple meal was hardly over when a very unusual sound fell upon their ears.

"Ho! what's that?" cried Rosita, starting to her feet, and listening.

The sound a second time came pealing through the open door and windows.

"I declare it's a bugle!" said the girl. "There must be soldiers."

She ran first to the door, and then up to the cactus-fence. She peered through the interstices of the green columns.

Sure enough there were soldiers. A troop of lancers was marching by twos down the valley, and not far off. Their glittering armour, and the pennons of their lances, gave them a gay and attractive appearance. As Rosita's eyes fell upon them, they were wheeling into line, halting, as they finished the movement, with their front to the rancho, and not a hundred paces from the fence. The house was evidently the object of their coming to a halt.

What could soldiers want there? This was Rosita's first reflection. A troop often passed up and down the valley, but never came near the rancho, which, as already stated, was far from the main road. What business could the soldiers be upon, to lead them out of their usual track?

Rosita asked herself these questions; then ran into the house and asked her mother. Neither could answer them; and the girl turned to the fence, and again looked through.

As she did so she saw one of the soldiers--from his finer dress evidently an officer--separate from the rest, and come galloping towards the house. In a few moments he drew near, and, reining his horse close up to the fence, looked over the tops of the cactus-plants.

Rosita could just see his plumed hat, and below it his face, but she knew the face at once. It was that of the officer who on the day of San Juan had ogled her so rudely. She knew he was the Comandante Vizcarra.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

The officer, from his position, had a full view of the girl as she stood in the little enclosure of flowers. She had retreated to the door, and would have gone inside, but she turned to call off Cibolo, a large wolf-dog, who was barking fiercely, and threatening the new-comer.

The dog, obedient to her voice, ran back into the house growling, but by no means satisfied. He evidently wanted to try his teeth on the shanks of the stranger's horse.

"Thank you, fair Senorita," said the officer. "It is very kind of you to protect me from that fierce brute. I would he were the only clangour I had to fear in this house."

"What have you to fear, Senor?" inquired Rosita, with some surprise.

"_Your eyes_, sweet girl: more dangerous than the sharp teeth of your dog,--they have already wounded me."

"Cavallero," replied Rosita, blushing and averting her face, "you have not come here to jest with a poor girl. May I inquire what is your business?"

"Business I have none, lovely Rosita, but to see _you_,--nay, do not leave me!--I _have_ business--that is, I am thirsty, and halted for a drink: you will not refuse me a cup of water, fair Senorita?"

These last phrases, broken and hastily delivered, were meant to restrain the girl from cutting short the interview, which she was about to do by entering the house. Vizcarra was not thirsty, neither did he wish for water; but the laws of hospitality would compel the girl to bring it, and the act might further his purposes.

She, without replying to his complimentary harangue, stepped into the house, and presently returned with a gourd-shell filled with water.

Carrying it to the gate-like opening of the fences, she presented it to him, and stood waiting for the vessel.

Vizcarra, to make his request look natural, forced down several gulps of the fluid, and then, throwing away the rest, held out the gourd. The girl stretched forth her hand to receive it, but he still held it fast, gazing intently and rudely upon her.

"Lovely senorita," he said, "may I not kiss that pretty hand that has been so kind to me?"

"Sir! please return me the cup."

"Nay, not till I have paid for my drink. You will accept this?"

He dropped a gold onza into the gourd.

"No, Senor, I cannot accept payment for what is only an act of duty. I shall not take your gold," she added, firmly.

"Lovely Rosita! you have already taken my heart, why not this?"

"I do not understand you, Senor; please put back your money, and let me have the cup."

"I shall not deliver it up, unless you take it with its contents."

"Then you must keep it, Senor," replied she, turning away. "I must to my work."

"Nay, further, Senorita!" cried Vizcarra; "I have another favour to ask,--a light for my cigar? Here, take the cup! See! the coin is no longer in it! You will pardon me for having offered it?"

Vizcarra saw that she was offended, and by this apology endeavoured to appease her.

She received the gourd-shell from his hands, and then went back to the house to bring him the light he had asked for.

Presently she reappeared with some red coals upon a small "brazero."

On reaching the gate she was surprised to see that the officer had dismounted, and was fastening his horse to a stake.

As she offered him the brazero, he remarked, "I am wearied with my ride; may I beg, Senorita, you will allow me a few minutes' shelter from the hot sun?"

Though annoyed at this request, the girl could only reply in the affirmative; and the next moment, with clattering spur and clanking sabre, the Comandante walked into the rancho.

Rosita followed him in without a word, and without a word he was received by her mother, who, seated in the corner, took no notice of his entrance, not even by looking up at him. The dog made a circuit around him, growling angrily, but his young mistress chided him off; and the brute once more couched himself upon a petate, and lay with eyes gleaming fiercely at the intruder.

Once in the house, Vizcarra did not feel easy. He saw he was not welcome. Not a word of welcome had been uttered by Rosita, and not a sign of it offered either by the old woman or the dog. The contrary symptoms were unmistakeable, and the grand officer felt he was an intruder.

But Vizcarra was not accustomed to care much for the feelings of people like these. He paid but little regard to their likes or dislikes, especially where these interfered with his pleasures; and, after lighting his cigar, he sat down on a "banqueta," with as much nonchalance as if he were in his own quarters. He smoked some time without breaking silence.