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Updated: May 13, 2025
Wooden shutters were opened at the windows, the sills of which were two feet in thickness. "The old Lugo ranch house," Consuello explained, catching his inquiring look. "Don Mario Lugo was a sturdy caballero in old Los Angeles. He had a silver mounted saddle, bridle and spurs that cost $1,500 and he wore an ornamental sword strapped to his saddle in Spanish soldier fashion.
One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was listening to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he would not allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to El Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad Castilian and worse Biscayan after his fashion, "Begone, caballero, and ill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, slayest thee as art here a Biscayan."
It was a baffling mouth, even to experienced women, and Chonita could make nothing of it. It had neither sweetness nor softness, but she had never felt impelled to study the mouth of a caballero. And then she wondered how a man with a mouth like that could have manners so gentle. "Are you aware," he said, abruptly, "that your brother is accused of conspiracy?" "What?"
Have you killed him? I exclaimed. ''Killed him? I kill him! he repeated indignantly; 'how can you imagine such an outrage, Caballero? Kill my best friend! No, Señor; but poor Pepito has been pressed into a military company. To-morrow, they will uniform him and march him off to some frontier regiment. ''Is there no way of buying him off? inquired Arthur. ''Nothing more easy, Caballero.
I inquired of a barber-surgeon, who, mounted like myself on a grey burra, joined me about noon, and proceeded in my company for several leagues. "They have many names, Caballero," replied the barber; "according to the names of the neighbouring places so they are called.
Not in the history of Washington County had there been another such a round-up as this one of which Sheriff Prince was the boss. He made his plans swiftly and thoroughly. His posses were to sweep the country between Saco de Oro Creek and Caballero Cañon. Every gap was to be stopped, every exit guarded. Dumont, much against his will, rode beside the sheriff as guide.
"Caballero," he said in an interested voice, "you are he whom they call the King of Sulaco, the master of the mine? Is it not so?" "Yes, I am the master of the mine," answered Charles Gould. The man cantered for a time in silence, then said, "I have a brother, a sereno in your service in the San Tome valley. You have proved yourself a just man.
I offered you my fidelity, Señor. As you are a caballero, I charge you to remember. Save me, Señor. Speak to those men.... For the sake of your honour, Señor." His voice was extraordinarily harsh not his own. Apparently, he believed that he was going to be cut to pieces there and then by the sailors. He seemed to read it in their faces, shuddering and shrinking whenever he raised his eyes.
His cheerful disposition rendered our morning drive extremely agreeable; his urbanity was shown to every one whom we met on the road; even the common peasant was saluted by him with the appellation of caballero, a mark of respect ever gratifying to the poor but proud Spaniard, when yielded by a superior. As the tide was out, we drove along the flat grounds bordering the Tinto.
"Have you writing materials?" pressed the servant. "Yes but what's the use?" "Write your letter, mi caballero, and I will hand it to Gato," urged the Mexican. "You?" gasped Tom. "Certainly." "But how?" "I will hand the letter to him in person." "You go to Gato?" "Yes. Why not?" "Gato would kill you!" "Kill a poor peon?" smiled Nicolas. "Oh, no; I am not worth while. I am not a fighting man."
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