"At your service, Don Martial," the other replied, lifting his hand to the ragged brim of his beaver.
The stranger smiled.
"Be good enough to cut for me while I light my pajillo."
"With pleasure," the lepero exclaimed.
El Tigrero, or Don Martial, whichever the reader may please to call him, took a gold mechero from his pocket, and carelessly struck a light while the lepero cut the cards.
"Señor," the latter said in a piteous voice.
"Well?"
"You have lost."
"Good. Tío Lucas, take a hundred ounces from my purse."
"I have them, your excellency," the banker replied. "Would you please to play again?"
"Certainly, but not for such trifles. I should like to feel interested in the game."
"I will cover any stake your excellency may like to name," the banker said, whose practised eye had discovered in the stranger's purse, amid a decent number of ounces, some forty diamonds of the purest water.
"H'm! Are you really ready to cover any stake I name?"
"Yes."
The stranger looked at him sharply.
"Even if I played for a thousand gold ounces?"
"I would cover double that if your excellency dares to stake it," the baker said imperturbably.
A contemptuous smile played for the second time on the horseman's haughty lips.
"I do dare it," he said.
"Two thousand ounces, then?"
"Agreed."
"Shall I cut?" Cucharés asked timidly.
"Why not?" the other answered lightly.
The lepero seized the cards with a hand trembling from emotion. There was a hum of expectation from the gamblers who surrounded the table. At this moment a window opened in the house before which Tío Lucas had established his monte table, and a charming girl leant carelessly over the balcony, looking down into the street.
The stranger turned to the balcony, and rising in his stirrups, —
"I salute the lovely Anita," he said, as he doffed his hat and bowed profoundly.
The girl blushed, bent on him an expressive glance from beneath her long velvety eyelashes, but made no reply.
"You have lost, excellency," Tío Lucas said with a joyous accent, which he could not completely conceal.
"Very good," the stranger replied, without even looking at him, so fascinated was he by the charming apparition on the balcony.
"You play no more?"
"On the contrary, I double."
"What!" exclaimed the banker, falling back a step in spite of himself at this proposition.
"No, I am wrong; I have something else to propose."
"What is it, excellency?"
"How; much have you there?" he said, pointing to the table with a disdainful gesture.
"Why, at least seven thousand ounces."
"Not more? That's very little."
The spectators regarded with a stupor, mingled with terror, this extraordinary man, who played for ounces and diamonds as others did for ochavos. The girl became pale. She turned a supplicating glance to the stranger.
"Play no more," she murmured in a trembling voice.
"Thanks," he exclaimed, "thanks, Señorita; your beautiful eyes will bring me a fortune. I would give all the gold on the table for the súchil flower you hold in your hand, and which your lips have touched."
"Do not play, Don Martial," the girl repeated, as she retired and closed the window. But, through accident or some other reason, her hand let loose the flower. The horseman made his steed bound forward, caught it in its flight, and buried it in his bosom, after having kissed it several times.
"Cucharés," he then said to the lepero, "turn up a card."
The latter obeyed. "Seis de copas!" he said.
"Voto a brios!" the stranger exclaimed, "the colour of the heart we shall win. Tío Lucas, I will back this card against all the gold you have on your table."
The banker turned pale and hesitated; the spectators had their eyes fixed upon him.
"Bah!" he thought after a minute's reflection, "It is impossible for him to win. I accept, excellency," he then added aloud.
"Count the sum you have."
"That is unnecessary, Señor; there are nine thousand four hundred and fifty gold ounces."1
At the statement of this formidable amount the spectators gave vent to a mingled shout of admiration and covetousness.
"I fancied you richer," the stranger said ironically. "Well, so be it then."
"Will you cut this time, excellency?"
"No, I am thoroughly convinced you are going to lose, Tío Lucas, and I wish you to be quite convinced that I have won fairly. In consequence, do me the pleasure of cutting, yourself. You will then be the artisan of your own ruin, and be unable to reproach anybody."
The spectators quivered with pleasure on seeing the chivalrous way in which the stranger behaved. At this moment the street was thronged with people whom the rumour of this remarkable stake had collected from every part of the town. A deadly silence prevailed through the crowd, so great was the interest that each felt in the dénouement of this grand and hitherto unexampled match. The banker wiped the perspiration that beaded on his livid brow, and seized the first card with a trembling hand. He balanced it for a few seconds between finger and thumb with manifest hesitation.
"Make haste," Cucharés cried to him with a grin.
Tío Lucas mechanically let the card fall as he turned his head away.
"Seis de copas!" the lepero shouted in a hoarse voice.
The banker uttered a yell of pain.
"I have lost!" he muttered.
"I was sure of it," the horseman said, still impassible. "Cucharés," he added, "carry that table and the gold upon it to Doña Anita. I shall expect you tonight you know where."
The lepero bowed respectfully. Assisted by two sturdy fellows, he executed the order he had just received, and entered the house, while the stranger started off at a gallop; and Tío Lucas, slightly recovered from the stunning blow he had received, philosophically twisted a cigar, repeating to those who forced their consolations upon him, —
"I have lost, it is true, but against a very fair player, and for a good stake. Bah! I shall have my revenge some day."
Then, so soon as the cigarette was made, the poor cleaned-out banker lighted it and walked off very calmly. The crowd, having no further excuse for remaining, also disappeared in its turn.
CHAPTER II
DON SYLVA DE TORRÉS
Guaymas is quite a new town, built somewhat from day to day according to the fancy of the emigrants, and hence no regular lines of streets have been maintained. However, we had better mention here that, with the exception of a few houses to which that name may be fairly given, all the rest are frightful dens, built of mud, and deplorably dirty.
In the Calle de la Merced, the principal, or to speak more truthfully, the only street in the town (for the others are only alleys), stood a one-storied house, ornamented with a balcony, and a peristyle supported by four pillars. The front was covered by a coating of lime of dazzling whiteness, and the roof was flat.
The proprietor of this house was one of the richest mineros in Sonora, and possessor of a dozen mines, all in work; he also devoted himself to cattle breeding, and owned