"Who have we here?" he cried. "But you are early visitors, my young
friends."
"We are dodging the conscript," said Roldan. "You will not betray us?"
"I should think not. I'd hide my own boys, if the mountains did not do
that for me. Come in, come in. The house is yours, my sons. Burn it if
you will. Tired? Here. Go in and get into bed. The servants are not up,
but I myself will make you chocolate and a tortilla."
The boys did not awaken for eight hours. When they emerged, somewhat
shamefacedly, they found the family assembled on the verandah, drinking
their afternoon chocolate, and impatient with curiosity. There were no
girls to criticise the dilapidated garments--which the kind hostess had
mended while the boys slept; but there were two youths of fourteen and
fifteen and two young men who were lying in hammocks and smoking
cigarritos.
Roldan and Adan were made welcome at once.
"My name is Jose Maria Perez," said the host, coming forward. "This is
my wife, Dona Theresa, and these are my sons, Emilio, Jorge, Benito, and
Carlos. What shall we call you, my sons?"
"My name is Roldan Castanada of the Rancho Los Palos Verdes, and this is
my friend Adan Pardo of the Rancho Buena Vista.
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