The avalanche of horsemen swept by, grinning, and their enjoyment was reflected in the faces of the spectators.
Bob, as pale as Nan herself, lifted her head and shoulders to his knee.
"Can you get me some water, Rosario?" His quiet voice was unsteady.
"Pronto, señor!" and she was off like a deer.
The flying horsemen had swept on unable yet to check their horses, leaving behind them a cloud of dust which had not settled when whoops in a different key—whoops which came only from lusty American throats—were heard on the road which led in to the square from the other side of the village.
The grins faded. Women gathered their children beneath their shawls and scuttled for their doorways, the men looked at each other uncertainly. They were conquerors, the Spain had lick the America, but the vanquished were still uncommonly handy with their guns.
It might be as well, perhaps, to stand inside one's own dooryard. Inside one's own dooryard one might not be so tempting a tar-
