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We spent the next day at the race-field. Many of the caballeros had brought their finest horses, and Reinaldo's were famous. The vaqueros threw off their black glazed sombreros and black velvet jackets, wearing only the short black trousers laced with silver, a shirt of dazzling whiteness, a silk handkerchief twisted about the head, and huge spurs on their bare brown heels.
His small black eyes were bright as glass beads, and his hair was ribboned as bravely as Reinaldo's. He was clad in silk attire, red silk embroidered with butterflies. His little hands were laden with rings; carbuncles glowed in the lace of his shirt. He was moderately wealthy, but a stanch retainer of the house of Iturbi y Moncada, the devoted slave of Chonita.
I saw Estenega grin; but I maintain that, whatever Reinaldo's deficiencies, he was a picture to be thankful for that morning. Doña Trinadad was quietly gowned in gray satin, but Don Guillermo was as picturesque in his way as his son. His black silk handkerchief had been knotted hurriedly about his head, and the four corners hung upon his neck.
She recalled drearily the clock-like revolutions of the year which brought bull-fights, races, rodeos, church celebrations; her mother's anecdotes of the Indians; her father's manifold interests, ever the theme of his tongue; Reinaldo's grandiloquent accounts of his exploits and intentions; Prudencia's infinite nothings.
"I made you no promise," he said, deliberately; "and I shall make you none. I do not wish you in the city of Mexico." Reinaldo's face grew livid. "Thou darest to say that to me, and yet would marry my sister?" "I would, and I shall." "And yet thou wouldst not help her brother?" "Her brother is less to me than any man with whom I have sat to-night. Build no hopes on that.
It seemed to me the simplest climax for the unfolding drama, although I should have been sorry for Diego. It was Reinaldo's turn to look black, but he devoted himself ostentatiously to Prudencia, who beamed like a child with a stick of candy. Chonita rode between Don Juan de la Borrasca and Adan.
As he did so, the door of Reinaldo's room opened, and the heir of the Iturbi y Moncadas stepped forth, gorgeous in black silk embroidered with gold. He had slept off the effects of the night's debauch, and cold water had restored his freshness. He kissed Prudencia's hand, his own to us, then bent over Valencia's with exaggerated homage. "At thy feet, O loveliest of California's daughters.
"Ay, thou canst appreciate the art of speech. Hast thou ever known any one who could converse with lighter ease than I and thy brother?" "I never have heard any one use more words." "Ay! they roll from my tongue and from Reinaldo's like wheels downhill." She turned to Adan: "They will be happy, you think, Reinaldo and Prudencia?" "Ay!" "What a beautiful wedding, no?" "Ay!"
The girl rose, trembling and blushing, but crossed the room with stately step and stood beside her uncle. Don Guillermo took her hand and placed it in Reinaldo's. "Thou shalt have her, my son," he said. "I have divined thy wishes." Reinaldo kissed the small fingers fluttering in his, making a great flourish.
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